It was not long, however, before smoke began to issue from the city chimneys; and before the engineers had finished their breakfast they were the object of the curious inspection of six or eight boys and men, who lounged into the camp and gazed about them with languid interest, their hands in their pockets every one.
“Good morning; gentlemen,” called out the chief engineer, from the table.
“Good mawning,” drawled out the spokesman of the party. “I allow thish-yers the railroad, I heern it was a-comin’.”
“Yes, this is the railroad; all but the rails and the ironhorse.”
“I reckon you kin git all the rails you want oaten my white oak timber over, thar,” replied the first speaker, who appeared to be a man of property and willing to strike up a trade.
“You’ll have to negotiate with the contractors about the rails, sir,” said Jeff; “here’s Mr. Brierly, I’ve no doubt would like to buy your rails when the time comes.”
“O,” said the man, “I thought maybe you’d fetch the whole bilin along with you. But if you want rails, I’ve got em, haint I Eph.”
“Heaps,” said Eph, without taking his eyes off the group at the table.
“Well,” said Mr. Thompson, rising from his seat and moving towards his tent, “the railroad has come to Stone’s Landing, sure; I move we take a drink on it all round.”
The proposal met with universal favor. Jeff gave prosperity to Stone’s Landing and navigation to Goose Run, and the toast was washed down with gusto, in the simple fluid of corn; and with the return compliment that a rail road was a good thing, and that Jeff Thompson was no slouch.