Beau, delighted with the proposition, immediately acceded, not having tasted cooked provisions that day.
“Now,” said the planter, while Beau was paying marked attention to a young turkey, “it’s mighty inconvenient to have one’s homestead smashed up, without so much as asking the liberty. And more than that, if there’s law to be had, it shan’t be did either.”
“Pooh! nonsense, my dear friend,” replied Beau, “it’s the law that says the railroad must be laid through kitchens. Why, we have gone through seventeen kitchens and eight parlours in the last eight miles—people don’t like it, but then it’s law, and there’s no alternative, except the party persuades the surveyor to move a little to the left, and as curves costs money most folks let it go through the kitchen.”
“Cost something, eh?” said the planter, eagerly catching at the bait thrown out for him. “Would not mind a trifle. You see I don’t oppose the road, but if you’ll turn to the left and it won’t be much expense, why I’ll stand it.”
“Let me see,” said Beau, counting his fingers, “forty and forty is eighty, and one hundred. Yes, two hundred
dollars will do it.” Unrolling a large map, intersected with lines running in every direction, he continued—“There is your house, and here’s the road. Air line. You see to move to the left we must excavate this hill. As we are desirous of retaining the goodwill of parties residing on the route, I’ll agree on the part of the company to secure the alteration, and prevent your house from being molested.”
The planter revolved the matter in his mind for a moment and exclaimed:—
“You’ll guarantee the alteration?”
“Give a written document.”
“Then it’s a bargain.”