“But aren't Mr. Morgan and Mr. Fairchild business men?”
“Yes—of the old-fashioned sort. The fact—is, Margaret, you've got a sort of preserve up in Brandon, and you fancy that the world is divided into sheep and goats. It's a great mistake. There is no such division. Every man almost is both a sheep and a goat.”
“I don't believe it, Rodney. You are neither.” She came close to him, and taking the collar of his coat in each hand, gave him a little shake, and looking up into his face with quizzical affection, asked, “What is your business here?”
Henderson stooped down and kissed her forehead, and tenderly lifted the locks of her brown hair. “You wouldn't understand, sweet, if I told you.”
“You might try.”
“Well, there's a man here from Fort Worth who wants us to buy a piece of railroad, and extend it, and join it with Hollowell's system, and open up a lot of new country.”
“And isn't it a good piece of road?”
“Yes; that's the trouble. The owners want to keep it to themselves, and prevent the general development. But we shall get it.”
“It isn't anything like wrecking, is it, dear?”
“Do you think we would want to wreck our own property?”