“With the provision,” interpolated Wilson, “that a right of way is donated.”
“Yes, with that provision,” Miller nodded.
“Then sit down here and write out your paper.”
Miller complied as nonchalantly as if he were drawing up a bill of sale for a worn-out horse.
“There you are,” he said, pushing the paper to Wilson when he had finished.
Wilson read it critically. “It certainly is binding,” he said. “You people may sleep during business hours, but you have your eyes open when you draw up papers. However, I don't care; I want the Bishops to feel secure. They must get to work to secure the right of way. It will be no easy job, I 'll let you know. I've struck shrewd, obstinate people in my life, but those up there beat the world. Noah couldn't have driven them in the ark, even after the Flood set in.”
“You know something about them, then?” said Miller, laughing to himself over the implied confession.
Wilson flushed, and then admitted that he had been up that way several times looking the situation over.
“How about the charter?” asked Miller, indifferently.
“That's fixed. I have already seen to that.”