Acherley could be silent no longer. “Nobody’s going to be ruined by it!” he retorted—he saw that Sir Charles looked much disturbed. “Nobody! If you ask me, I think what you’re saying is d—d nonsense.” “It may be,” the Squire said sternly. “But just another word, please. I want you to understand, Woosenham, that this is not your affair only. It touches every one of us. What are we in this room? If we are those to whom the administration of this county is entrusted, let us act as such—and keep our hands clean. But if we are a set of money-changers and bill-mongers,” with contempt, “stalking horses for such men as Ovington the banker, dirtying our hands with all the tricks of the money market—that’s another matter. But I warn you—you can’t be both. And for my part—we don’t any longer wear swords to show we are gentlemen, but I’m hanged if I’ll wear an apron or have anything to do with this business. A railroad? Faugh! As if horses’ legs and Telford’s roads aren’t good enough for us, or as if tea-kettles will ever beat the Wonder coach—fifteen hours to London.” Acherley had been restrained with difficulty, and he now broke loose. “Griffin,” he cried, “you’re damned offensive! If you wore a sword as you used to——” “Pooh! Pooh!” said the Squire and shrugged his shoulders, while Sir Charles, terribly put out both by the violence of the scene and by the picture which the Squire had drawn, put in a feeble protest. “I must say,” he said, “I think this uncalled for, Griffin. I think you might have spared us this. You may not agree with us——” “But damme if he shall insult us!” Acherley cried, trembling with passion. “Pooh, pooh!” said the Squire again. “I’m an old man, and it is useless to talk to me in that strain. I’ve spoken my mind, and——” “Ay, and you horse two of the coaches!” Acherley retorted. “And make a profit by that, dirty or no! But where’d your profit be, if your father who rode post to London had stood pat where he was? And set himself against coaches as you set yourself against the railroad?” That was a shrewd hit and the Squire did not meet it. Instead, “Well, right or wrong,” he said, “that’s my opinion. And right or wrong, no railroad crosses my land, and that’s my last word!” “We’ll see about that,” Acherley answered, bubbling with rage. “There are more ways than one of cooking a goose.”