“Father, don't be angry with me,” she said, “but when you know what I do, you will be glad I stopped you just now. Mr. Milburn is not buying that land for his own use.”
“He isn't?” exclaimed the Colonel.
“No; he's secretly employed by a concern worth over two million dollars—the Southern Land and Timber Company of Atlanta.”
“What?” the word came out as suddenly as if some one had struck him on the breast.
“No,” answered the girl, now pale and agitated. “To save Mr. Bishop from loss, Alan and Rayburn Miller have worked up a scheme to build a railroad from Darley to the Bishop property. All arrangements have been made. There can be no hitch in it unless the citizens refuse to grant a right of way. In a week from now a meeting is to be advertised. Of course, it is not a certainty, but you can see that the chance is good, and you ought not to sacrifice your land.”
“Good Heavens!” ejaculated Barclay, his eyes distended, “is this a fact?”
“I am telling you what I have really no right to reveal,” said Dolly, “but I promised Alan not to let you sell if I could help it.”
The Colonel was staggered by the revelation; his face was working under strong excitement. “I thought that old rascal”—he meant Milburn—“was powerfully anxious to trade. Huh! Looky' here, daughter, this news is almost too good to be true. Why, another railroad would make my town-lots bound up like fury, and as for this mountain-land—whew! It may be as you say. Ray Miller certainly is a wheel-horse.”
“It was not his idea,” said Dolly, loyally. “In fact, he tried his best to discourage Alan at first—till he saw what could be done. Since then he's been secretly working at it night and day.”
“Whew!” whistled the Colonel. “I don't care a cent whose idea it is; if it goes through it's a good one, and, now that I think of it, the necessary capital is all that is needed to make a big spec' over there.”