"Not in a million years," returned the escaped captive airily. "I am here this morning as a paying patron of the Pioneer Short Line. I want to hire a special train to go—well, anywhere I please on your jerkwater railroad."
"You don't mean it?"
"Oh, yes, I do. I want a car and a good, smart engine. The Eight-Fifteen will do, with Buck Chandler to run it."
"Pshaw! take your own car and any crew you please. We are not selling transportation to you."
"Yes you are; I'm going to pay for that train, and what's more, I want your written receipt for the money. I need it in my business. Then, if Chandler should happen to get gay and dump me into the ditch somewhere, I can sue you for damages."
"All right; if you will persist in joking with me it's going to cost you something. How far do you want your train to run?"
"Oh, I don't know; anywhere the notion prods me—say to the west end and back, with as many stops as I see fit to make, and perhaps a run over the branches."
I saw the boss make a few figures on a pad under his hand.
"It would cost anybody else, roughly, something like five hundred dollars. On account of your little joke it's going to cost you a cold thousand."
Mr. Van Britt took out his check-book and a fountain pen and solemnly made out the check.