Gasper Farrington made the tender, he might have jumped at it.
Instantly, however, he remembered what Denny had said about the new line, recalled the fact that Farrington had never been known to make a bad bargain, compared confining labor over a desk in a hot, stifling room with the free, glad dash of mail and express, the bracing air, the constant change of real railroad life, reflected that once away from Stanley Junction he and his mother would never be likely to learn more of Farrington's past doings with his dead father, and—Ralph decided.
"Mr. Farrington," he said, "in regard to the cottage, that is my mother's sole business, and I do not think she could be induced to sell you a place that has been a very dear home to her. As to myself—I thank you for your kind intentions, but at present I have no desire to change my work."
"Why not—why not?" cried Farrington. He had been unctuous, smirking and eager. Now his brow darkened, and his thin lips came together in a sour, vicious way.
"Well, I have marked out a certain thorough course after much thought and advice, and do not like to depart from it."
Gasper Farrington got up and paced the porch
