At the railway station, Zeke asked for a ticket to Norfolk.
“Want a return-trip ticket?” the friendly station-agent suggested. He supposed the young mountaineer was taking a pleasure excursion to the city.
But Zeke shook his head defiantly, and spoke with utter forgetfulness of his experience in Joines’ store.
“No,” he declared stoutly, “I hain’t a-comin’ back till I’ve made my fortin.” 20
“You’ll be a long time gone from this-here State o’ Wilkes,” the agent vouchsafed dryly. He would have said more, but his shrewd eyes saw in this young man’s expression something that bade him pause, less sceptical. The handsome and wholesome face showed a strength of its own in the resolute curving nose and the firmly-set lips and the grave, yet kindly, eyes, with a light of purposeful intelligence glowing within their clear deeps. The tall form, broad of shoulder, deep of chest, narrow of hip, though not yet come to the fulness of maturity, was of the evident strength fitted to toil hugely at the beck of its owner’s will. The agent, conscious of a puny frame that had served him ill in life’s struggle, experienced a half-resentment against this youth’s physical excellence. He wondered, if, after all, the boast might be justified by the event.
“Train in ten minutes,” he said curtly, as he pushed out the ticket.
So, presently, Zeke, found himself seated for the first time on the red plush seat of a railway carriage. The initial stage of his journey was ended; the second was begun.