Here the agent launched out into a eulogy of the company, and dwelt eloquently upon the advantages which would accrue to the country in general, and to the owner of the Pickett farm in particular, by reason of the building of the railroad as surveyed. Abner Pickett did not appear to be impressed in the slightest degree. The agent began to feel that his worst fears were about to be realized. “We need the right to pass through your property, Mr. Pickett, and we are willing to pay you for it, I may say liberally. Have you--a--considered what compensation would be satisfactory to you?” “No, I haven’t.” “Well, if I am correctly informed, we run through your land a distance of about seven thousand feet. In no place do we need or take more than fifty feet in width. That would make, as you see, about eight acres. Now, I really don’t know what your land is worth per acre.” The rising inflection at the end of this last sentence called for an answer; but none was vouchsafed by Abner Pickett. He continued to puff slowly at his pipe and gaze out toward the distant hills. “As I said, Mr. Pickett, we are willing to pay you liberally. We consider that the right of passage through the gap is of considerable importance and much value to us. How--for instance--how would eight hundred dollars strike you?” The agent waited, in breathless suspense, for a reply. The old man shifted his gaze from the distant landscape to the agent’s face. He removed his pipe slowly from his mouth, leaned back in his chair, and answered:-- “Young man, it ain’t worth it.” The representative of the company was stricken dumb with astonishment. He had never before had an experience like this. Men usually considered their property worth twice what he offered to pay them for it. Indeed, he had been prepared to double his offer to the owner of Pickett’s Gap, rather than have the slightest difficulty or delay in procuring a right of way. When he had partially recovered from his surprise, he found voice to say:-- “Well, Mr. Pickett, that gap, you know, is a most favorable outlet for us. We really need it, and are willing to pay you for it what it is worth.” “Just so. But you can’t pay me any such price as that. I say it ain’t worth it.” The agent was still wondering whether or not he was dreaming. But his sense of a good bargain was beginning to reassert itself, and he inquired hesitatingly:-- “What, for instance, would you consider right, Mr. Pickett? What, in short, may I ask is your figure?” “Let me see. How many acres do you say you take?” “About eight acres all together.” “So! Well, my land is worth twenty dollars an acre, take it on an average.” “But, Mr. Pickett, that would only come to a hundred and sixty dollars. That is--pardon me--but that is really inadequate. Why, we only take an acre and a half of John Davis, just above you here, and we pay him a hundred and fifty dollars, and do it cheerfully.”