“Oh, yass; fine school; hondred feet long! and fine titcher; splendid titcher; titch English.”
“Well, well!” laughed the surveyor. “Well, the next thing will be a railroad.”
St. Pierre’s eyes lighted up.
“You t’ink!”
“Why, yes; you can’t keep railroads away from a place long, once you let in the public school and teach English.”
“You t’ink dass good?”
“What, a railroad? Most certainly. It brings immigration.”
“Whass dat—’migrash’n?”
The surveyor explained.
The next time St. Pierre came to Grande Pointe—to sell some fish—he came armed with two great words for the final overthrow of all opponents of enlightenment: “Rellroad!—’Migrash’n!”