"Mr.Annixter, how do you do ?" "What in hell do YOU want ?" demanded Annixter with a stare.
S.Behrman hiccoughed slightly and passed a fat hand over his waistcoat.
"Why, not very much, Mr.Annixter," he replied, ignoring the belligerency in the young ranchman's voice, "but I will have to lodge a protest against you, Mr.Annixter, in the matter of keeping your line fence in repair.

The sheep were all over the track last night, this side the Long Trestle, and I am afraid they have seriously disturbed our ballast along there.

We--the railroad--can't fence along our right of way.

The farmers have the prescriptive right of that, so we have to look to you to keep your fence in repair.

I am sorry, but I shall have to protest----" Annixter returned to the hammock and stretched himself out in it to his full length, remarking tranquilly: "Go to the devil!" "It is as much to your interest as to ours that the safety of the public----" "You heard what I said.