He had not made many steps before he found himself confronted by his hopeful son Dan.
"Well," said Silas, cheerfully, "we won't have to pull that heavy flat across the river many more days, and the next time you go over you can take your gun with you and put a charge of shot into that horn, if you feel like it. Hallo! What's the matter of you?"
Dan's clenched hands were held close by his side, his black eyes were flashing dangerously, and he stood before his father, looking the very picture of rage and excitement.
"Can't you speak, and tell me what's the matter of you?" demanded Silas, who could not remember when he had seen Dan in such a towering passion before. "I know it's mighty hard to give up the ferry just 'cause them rich folks down to the Beach have took it into their heads that they don't want one here, but we can make enough out of them birds of old man Warren's to—"
Dan interrupted his father with a gesture of impatience, and snapped his fingers in the air.
"I don't care that for the ferry," he sputtered. "I am glad to see it go, for it has brung me more backaches than dimes, I tell you."
"Well, then, what's the matter of you?" Silas once more inquired. "You'd best make that tongue of your'n more lively, if you want me to listen to you, 'cause I ain't got no time to waste. I'm going in to talk to that Joe of our'n about the job that old man Warren offered to give him."
These words had a most surprising effect upon Dan. He bounded into the air like a rubber ball, knocked his heels together, and yelled loudly for somebody to hold him on the ground.