“Not without a lot of trouble. They can compel us to sell—maybe. But it will take time—and it will take a lot of money,” he said grimly.
The boy’s face answered the look in his. “You going to fight ’em?”
The man nodded slowly. “I ’m going to fight ’em.” He touched the letter with his hand. “Do you know what that rate would mean for the road?”
“It has paid pretty well for two years,” said the boy thoughtfully.
“And it would pay again,” said the man. He looked at the boy. “It would pay three years—perhaps four—for the road. But it would n’t pay the country.”
The boy looked at him, a little puzzled light in his face.
Simeon surveyed him a minute. Then he turned away, as if half ashamed. “What did you find out from McElwain about those boilers?”
The boy glanced at the clock. “He ’s to have the statement at five. I ’ll get it now.” When he had gone from the room, the man sat looking thoughtfully at his desk. He could not understand the feeling that had suddenly gripped him—a kind of shame—holding him back from revealing to the boy his purpose. He had faced the world with selfishness, but when virtue tried to look out from his eyes, they had faltered and turned away.