I said, "Right here in this car."
He just looked all around and then he said, "They haint cal'latin' on changin' the name of this here taown ter Brewster's Centre, be they?"
"'Cause that won't go here," another one of the men said. "We wuz promised a station, but we haint goin' ter have no changin' of names. The railroad folks tried that down ter Skunk Hollow, settin' up a jim-crack station, all red shingles and fancy roof, and callin' it Ozone Valley. But they can't come any of that business up here."
"After Eb Brewster, too," the other man said; "and him crazier'n a loon."
"Hadn't ought ter be thirty mile nuther," the man with one suspender said; "that three oughter be an eight. Noow York is eighty mile on the rail."
They all stood there squinting up at the Brewster's Centre sign, and all of a sudden I had a thought and I whispered to the fellows, "Don't spoil the plot, it's growing thicker. Let me do the talking."
One of the men said to the others, "I alluz allowed Eb was jest talkin' crazy when he said haow he had friends amongst them big railroad maganates. But the taown haint never goin' to stand fer this, it haint."
Then I spoke up and said very sober-like, "What used to be the name of this town?"
The man said, "'Taint youster; 'tis. This here taown is Ridgeboro, Noow York, and so it'll stay, by thunder!"
"Good night!" I said, and all the fellows started to laugh.