“Then I don't believe I'd chip in,” advised Miller. “Bartell would throw it up to you.”
“I reckon you are right,” said Barclay, “but for the Lord's sake do something. It never will do to let this thing fall through.”
“I've done all I can,” said Miller, dejectedly. “Bartell's got the whole gang hoodooed—the blasted blockhead! Wouldn't he make a fine representative in the legislature?”
The Colonel went back to his seat, and Wilson came to Miller, just as Alan approached.
“It's going to fall flatter than a pancake,” said Wilson. “My company simply cannot afford to buy the right of way. Can' t you choke that illiterate fellow over there or—or buy him off?”
“He ain't that sort,” said Miller, disconsolately.
Alan glanced at his father and mother. On their wrinkled faces lay ample evidences of dejection. The old man seemed scarcely to breathe. Up to Bartell's speech he had seemed buoyantly hopeful, but his horizon had changed; he looked as if he were wondering why he had treated himself to such a bright view of a thing which had no foundation at all.
At this juncture Abner Daniel rose from his seat near the stove and slowly walked forward till he stood facing the audience. Immediately quiet reigned, for he was a man who was invariably listened to.
“Gentlemen an' ladies,” he began, clearing his throat and wiping his mouth with his long hand. “This ain't no put-in o' mine, gracious knows! I hain't got nothin', an' I don't expect to lose or gain by what is done in this matter, but I want to do what I kin fer what I think is right an' proper. Fer my part, I don't think we kin do without a railroad much longer. Folks is a-pokin' fun at us, I tell you. It's God's truth. T'other day I was over at Darley a-walkin' along the railroad nigh the turnin'-table, whar they flirt engynes round like children on a flyin'-jinny, when all at once a big strappin' feller with a red flag in his hand run up an' knocked me off'n the track kerwhallop in a ditch. It was just in time to keep me from bein' run over by a switch-engyne. He was as mad as Tucker. 'Looky' heer,' ses he, 'did you think that thing was playin' tag with you an' ud tap you on the shoulder an' run an' hide behind a tree? Say, ain't you from Short Pine Destrict, this side o' the mountains?' I told 'im he'd guessed right, an' he said, 'I'lowed so, fer thar ain't no other spot on the whirlin' globe that produces folks as green as gourds.' Well, gentlemen, that floored me; it was bad enough to be jerked about like a rag doll, but it was tough to heer my section jeered at. 'What makes you say that?' I axed 'im, as I stood thar tryin' to git a passle o' wet glass out o' my hip-pocket without cuttin' my fingers. [Laughter, led by Pole Baker, who sensed the meaning of the reference.] 'Beca'se,' ses he, 'you moss-backs over thar don't know the war's over; a nigger from over thar come in town t'other day an' heerd fer the fust time that he was free. Two men over thar swapped wives without knowin' thar was a law agin it. Half o' you-uns never laid eyes on a railroad, an' wouldn't have one as a free gift.' I turned off an' left 'im an' went up on the main street. Up thar a barber ketched me by the arm an' said, ses he: 'Come in an' le' me cut that hair. You are from Short Pine, ain't you?' I axed him why he thought so, an' he said, ses he, 'beca'se you got a Short Pine hair-cut.'' What's that?' ses I. An' he laughed at a feller cocked up in a cheer an' said: 'It's a cut that is made by the women out yore way. They jest turn a saucer upside down on the men's heads an' trim around the edges. I could tell one a mile; they make a man look like a bob-tailed mule.'[Laughter, loud and prolonged.] Yes, as I said, they are a-pokin' all manner o' fun at us, an' it's chiefly beca'se we hain't got no railroad. The maddest I ever got on this line was down at Filmore's store one day. A little, slick chap come along sellin' maps of the United States of America. They was purty things on black sticks, an' I wanted one fer the wall o' my room. I was about to buy one, but I thought I'd fust make shore that our county was on it, so I axed the peddler to p'int it out to me. Well, after some s'arch, he put his knife-blade on what he called this county, but lo an' behold! it was mighty nigh kivered with round dots about the size of fly-specks. 'What's the matter with it?' I axed 'im. 'Oh, you mean them dots,' ses he, an' he turned to a lot o' reference words in the corner of the map. 'Them,' ses he, 'them's put thar to indicate the amount o' ignorance in a locality. You 'll find 'em in all places away from the railroads; a body kin say what they please agin railroads, but they fetch schools, an' books, an' enlightenment. You've got a good many specks' ses he, kinder comfortin' like, 'but some o' these days a railroad will shoot out this away, an' them brainy men amongst you will git the chance God intends to give 'em,' Gentlemen, I didn't buy no map. I wouldn't 'a' had the thing on my wall with them specks a-starin' me in the face. It wouldn't 'a' done any good to scrape 'em off, fer the'r traces would 'a' been left. No, friends, citizens, an' well-wishers, thar ain't but one scraper that will ever rake our specks off, an' that's the cow-catcher of a steam-engyne. I say let 'er come. Some objection has been raised on the score o' killin' cattle. That reminds me of a story they tell on old Burt Preston, who has a farm on the main line beyant Darley. He was always a-gittin' his stock killed so fast, an' a-puttin' in heavy claims fer damages, until folks begun to say he made his livin' by buyin' scrub cattle an' sellin' mashed beef to the corporation. One day the road sent out a detective to watch 'im, an' he seed Burt drive a spindlin' yeerlin' out o' the thicket on the track jest in time to get it knocked off by a through freight. The detective went back an' reported, an' they waited to see what Preston ud do. By the next mail they got a claim in which Preston said the yeerlin' weighed eight hundred pound an' was a fine four-gallon milch-cow. They threatened to jail 'im, an' Preston agreed to withdraw his claim. But he got down-hearted an' traded his place fer a farm on t'other railroad, an' the last I heerd o' him he was at his old trade agin. I reckon that's about the way we 'll be damaged by gettin' our stock killed. That's all I got to say, gentlemen. Let's git this road an' scrape our fly-specks off.”
The big house shook with the applause that greeted this speech. Even the opposition seemed to be wavering. Only Bartell kept a rigid countenance. He rose and in a low voice invited his group to repair with him to one of the jury-rooms. They got up and followed him out. As he was about to close the door after them he nodded to Miller. “We 'll take a vote on it an' let you know,” he said, coldly.