"Say what?" the stranger asked in surprise.
"Ask me if I'm a toper. I never got real drunk in me life. I never took too much."
"You misunderstand me, Mr. Andrews," the agent explained, much amused. "I didn't say 'toper,' but 'Utopia,' which means a most delightful place, where people are all happy, and life is simple and free."
"Oh, that's what ye mean, is it? Well, fer heaven's sake, why didn't ye say so an' speak plain English instid of sich city jargon? I ain't got time to waste this mornin', if you have."
"Neither have I," the agent replied, looking at his watch. "My, I have to be in Glucom in half an hour! Look here, will you sell your place?"
"How are ye travellin'?" Abner asked.
"By auto. It's out there on the road."
"An' ye're goin' right straight to Glucom, eh?"
"Yes, as soon as I get through with this business. Will you sell, Mr. Andrews?"
For a few seconds Abner did not reply. He thought of his horse in town, an' then of his peaceful ancestors. If he could rub this man the right way, as Zeb suggested, it might save him that long walk.