It's me humble opinion, John, that you're no Sherlock Holmes; but ye won't believe it 'til ye satisfy yourself of the fact." Next morning the loungers around Sam Cotting's store were thrown into a state of great excitement when "the nabob" came over from the Wegg farm and held the long-distance telephone for more than an hour, while he talked with people in New York.

The natives knew that their telephone, which was built into a small booth at one end of the store--next the post-office boxes--was part of a system that made it possible for one to talk to those in far away cities.

Often the country people would eye the mysterious-looking instrument with awe and whisper to each other of its mighty powers; but no one had ever before used it to telephone farther than the Junction, and then only on rare occasions.
"It'll cost a heap o' money, Sam," said McNutt, uneasily, while Uncle John was engaged in his remarkable conversation.

They could see him in the booth, through the little window.
"It will, Mac," was the solemn reply.

"But the fool nabob may as well spend it thet way as any other.