"What a marvellous country! Why, Grace, one of our firm, at the old store, boasted of having a chimney breast of that same brick, as if it were something quite rare and costly." "Why don't you build the new store of it, Phil?" Grace asked. "That's a happy thought!" said Truett. "Now, Somerton, what do you say to my brickyard plan? Put up the first solid building in Claybanks--set the fashion. Think of how 'twould advertise your business and make your competitors look small by comparison." "Very well. See how quickly it can be done, if at all, and then we will talk business. We must have the warehouse clear by the beginning of the pork-packing season, less than four months distant." Then he smiled provokingly, and continued, "Perhaps, however, it will be better to build the new store of wood, as already planned, so you can give most of your time to building a railroad, so that we may get our golden bricks, and other goods, to market." "There's sense in that," said Truett, taking the remark seriously. "As to the road, you may rest assured that my figures are within the extreme cost." "My dear boy," said Philip, "far be it from me to dispute an engineer's estimates; but for some years in New York I was clerk and correspondent for a firm of private bankers who dabbled in railways, and I assure you that they never found any that cost but ten thousand dollars per mile." "Perhaps not, for most railways are built on credit--generally on speculation, and largely for the special benefit of the builders, but our road--" "What are these men talking about?" Mary asked of Grace. "A railway from Claybanks to the nearest station we now have," said Philip. "Women love imaginative creations, Truett, so tell them all about it." "There is no imagination in this," Truett retorted, "but perhaps they will condescend to listen to facts. Most companies are obliged to average the cost of their lines over a great stretch of territory. They have bridges and trestles to build, cuts to make, low ground to fill, and they must pay high prices, at portions of their line, for right of way, and they stock and bond their companies at ruinous rates to get the necessary money. As I've already said, none of the routes I have selected requires a single bridge, trestle, or filling, and the right of way, at the highest prices of farm land in this county, won't exceed a thousand dollars per mile." "'Twon't cost a cent a mile," said Caleb. "Any farmer in these parts will give a railroad free right of way through his land, and say 'Thank you' for the privilege of doing it. If his house or barn is in the way, he will move it; he'll even let the line run over his well, and dig himself a new one, for the sake of having railroad trains for him and his family to stare at, for the trains kind o' bring farmers in touch with the big world of which they never see anything. If everything else can be arranged, you may safely count on me to coax right of way for the entire line."