The cigar went out and was relighted many times before the story of Bridgewater was finished. The slow mind of the narrator wandered in and out through the past, nudged by keen, quick questions from the nervous listener beside him. Little things loomed large—big things faded and slipped away in John’s vision. It had been a mighty day for Bridgewater when the county house was built; but Simeon scoffed at the court-house and listened with rapt face to the story of two truckmen that John knew who had quarreled over their stand and made up, and joined against a third and held up the transportation of Bridgewater for three days.
Simeon sighed a little. “I ’ve never lived,” he said slowly. “I’ve made money—I’ve sat with my face close to a board, making money, studying moves—I’ve played a good game—” He said it grimly—“But I ’ve never lived yet. My father always said ‘Go in to win,’ and there was n’t any mother.” He said the words between the puffs.... “And then I married—” He waited a minute—“Yes—I guess I lived—a year. But I did n’t know-then.”
There was silence in the car. The train sped through soft, even darkness. The engine shrieked at a solitary grade crossing and was past.
The man lifted his head. There was a deep smile in his eyes.... “It ’s all going to be different,” he said slowly, “Just wait till we get things in hand—I ’m going over the road.”... He drew a map from his pocket and spread it on the table.... “Here is a place I want to know.” He pointed to a corner of the map, “They ’re always making a fuss up there—saying the road’s got to come their way. The division superintendent says it won’t pay—They say it will. I ’m going up.”
John leaned forward—“Chester County.” He spelled the name across the map. “My father knows Chester County.”
Simeon looked up with quick stare... “Your father?”
“He lived there when he was a boy.”
“I must know him,” said Simeon. “I ’ll take him with me.”
John smiled at the picture—but underneath the smile ran a swift sense of his father’s presence—its slow, steadying power upon the nervous, hurrying man. He would rest in the stolid strength of it. “I ’ll bring him to see you,” he said.
“Yes—What is your mother like?—You have not told me about your mother.” He gazed at the boy deeply.