"Do you know," the Colonel slapped his knee, "I have suspected you were slipping out oftener of late! I've been missing my niggers!—and was going to tell Jane about it!"
"Don't," Brent said seriously, "I want—I just had an idea, that maybe it would be nice to finish up for—well, about the time of her birthday this summer. So, if you've noticed any especial activity, you'll have to respect my confidence."
"Why, sir, I call that handsome, sir!" he cried. "Ladies might not object to birthdays if cavaliers laid railroads at their feet! Tell me more!"
"Well," Brent flushed, "the line is short and surprisingly simple: distance from Buckville to the coal, sixteen miles. There was only one choice of locations: the valley line, where the ruling grade is about nominal. I'll come past here half a mile—or more, Colonel, if you desire it—and scoot up the North Fork of Blacksnake, through the natural tunnel, follow alongside the disappearing stream, and there you are! A few rights of way are still unsecured, but I've had Dulany out trying to gather them up. He's known hereabouts, and bargains better than I."
"Well, well, I am charmed! Dulany is a good man! I take it that things will soon begin to show in earnest?"
"It depends on what you mean by earnest," Brent laughed. "If construction work, that doesn't begin till after I've done!"
"Of course, of course! I had forgotten! Where do you cross the pike, sir?"
Brent looked at him a moment, then slowly began to smile.
"I'm going through the front parlor of my friend Tom Hewlet's house."