“Says ye can have it, Mr. Pickett. Says he al’ays did like to ’commodate his neighbors.”
“Well,” responded the old man, “on the whole, David Brown ain’t a bad neighbor. You might go further an’ fare worse.”
Gabriel shuffled along into the sitting room and drew a chair up to the fire.
“Queer thing David was a-tellin’ me about the railroad,” he said.
Dannie’s heart began to thump in his breast. He knew, intuitively, that the story of the night survey was coming. And with that story would come also—what? He glanced fearfully up at his grandfather, who had settled back again in his big chair, and was puffing slowly at his pipe.
“Well, give it to us,” said the old man.
“W’y,” responded Gabriel, “seems ’at along in the night sometime, after them first fellers had set their stakes, ’nother lot o’ surveyors come down the crick, an’ run another line through the gap by moonlight, or lamplight, or suthin’. The talk is ’at they made their survey for the Tidewater an’ Western. Tell ye what! ef them two railroads git to fightin’ each other, the fur’s got to fly. ‘The bigger the barrel, the bigger the battle,’ ez ol’ Isra’l Pidgin use to say.”
Abner Pickett straightened up in his chair, took his pipe from his mouth and looked at the hired man incredulously.