The representative of the company was stricken dumb with astonishment. He had never before had an experience like this. Men usually considered their property worth twice what he offered to pay them for it. Indeed, he had been prepared to double his offer to the owner of Pickett’s Gap, rather than have the slightest difficulty or delay in procuring a right of way. When he had partially recovered from his surprise, he found voice to say:—
“Well, Mr. Pickett, that gap, you know, is a most favorable outlet for us. We really need it, and are willing to pay you for it what it is worth.”
“Just so. But you can’t pay me any such price as that. I say it ain’t worth it.”
The agent was still wondering whether or not he was dreaming. But his sense of a good bargain was beginning to reassert itself, and he inquired hesitatingly:—
“What, for instance, would you consider right, Mr. Pickett? What, in short, may I ask is your figure?”
“Let me see. How many acres do you say you take?”
“About eight acres all together.”
“So! Well, my land is worth twenty dollars an acre, take it on an average.”
“But, Mr. Pickett, that would only come to a hundred and sixty dollars. That is—pardon me—but that is really inadequate. Why, we only take an acre and a half of John Davis, just above you here, and we pay him a hundred and fifty dollars, and do it cheerfully.”
“Young man, I ain’t runnin’ John Davis’s business, an’ he ain’t runnin’ mine. If you want that land at twenty dollars an acre, you can have it. If you don’t, you can let it alone. I shan’t take a cent more nor less.”