“Why, they don't seem to do so well. There is something lacking in the land to make them do their best. I believe it is too cold. And, then, I am watching the onion market, and I am afraid that too many people have gone into the game in certain sections, and are bound to create an over-supply.”
The gentleman looked at him curiously.
“You certainly are an able-minded youngster, Hiram,” he observed. “I s'pose if you do so well here next year as you expect, a charge of dynamite wouldn't blast you away from the Atterson farm?”
“Why, Mr. Bronson,” responded the young farmer, “I don't want to run a one-horse farm all my life. And this never can be much more. It isn't near enough to any big city to be a real truck farm—and I'm interested in bigger things.
“No, sir. The Atterson Eighty is only a stepping stone for me. I hope I'll go higher before long.”
CHAPTER XXVIII. HARVEST
But Hiram was not at all sure that he would ever see a celery crop in this bottom-land. Pepper still “hung fire” and he would not go to Mr. Strickland with his option.
“I don't hafter,” he told Hiram. “When I git ready I'll let ye know, be sure o' that.”
The fact was that the railroad had made no further move. Mr. Strickland admitted to Mrs. Atterson that if the strip along the east boundary of the farm was condemned by the railroad, she ought to get a thousand dollars for it.