“Did David Brown tell you all that?” he asked slowly.
“Ev’ry word of it, Mr. Pickett, an’ more.”
“Then either David Brown lies, or else you lie, or else I’m the biggest fool in Meredith County.”
Still Gabriel was not in the least disconcerted.
“Yes,” he went on, “jes so. David was a-tellin’ me ’at the right-o’-way agent told him ’at you’d sold the right to build their railroad through your propity to the D. V. & E. Comp’ny fer a hundred an’ sixty dollars. Says you might jest as well ’a’ got a thousand ef you’d ’a’ stuck fer it.”
“It’s none of David Brown’s business what I got for the right o’ way, nor yours, either.”
“No; that’s right. But David, he says that ain’t the wust of it. He says ye’ve sold ’em the right to build the railroad where they run the line, straight plunk through the graveyard. An’ David says he don’t believe ye sensed it when ye done it.”
This was the last straw. If Abner Pickett was angry before, he was furious now. He rose from his chair and straightened himself to his full height, while the hot blood reddened his neck and face as it always did in his moments of passion. It was bad enough, in all conscience, to have committed the unpardonable error of signing away his dearest rights in ignorance or through deception, but that his neighbors should know of and comment on his unspeakable folly, this was more than he could bear.
“Tell David Brown,” he shouted, “to mind his own business.” After a moment he continued, “An’ you can take your ram’s horn an’ go up an’ down the road to-morrow mornin’ proclaimin’ that Abner Pickett has been suddenly bereft of all the common sense he ever had, and invitin’ the public to come down here an’ gaze upon a full-fledged fool—an’ that’s me, if there’s any truth in your lyin’ and ridiculous story. Who saw these men that made the night survey, anyhow? Who knows that somebody didn’t dream it? What proof is there? What proof, I say?”
“I saw them, Gran’pap.”