“How do you do, sir? How do you do?” he said familiarly. “Fine day.”
“Very,” I said. “Quite pleasant.”
I wanted to get back to my hotel, for my stomach admonished me that it was fully dinner-time; and so, I made an attempt to pass on and begin to climb the hill. It was no use, though. He commenced by asking me if I lost my leg in the army, then went on asking one question after another—in such rapid succession that I only got each one about half answered—till he had asked three times the number usually proposed. He asked questions such as I had never thought of before, and kept on so fast that I fancied he asked them merely for the pleasure of it, and not for the sake of hearing them answered. He not only asked me if I was born in this country, where I was brought up, what kind of saw-mills we had there, and what barbers charged for cutting hair; but also desired to know if I had ever looked at the moon through a telescope, and if I thought corn as good a diet for horses as oats. Every question that any mortal man could think of in so short a time, he asked me, till I finally felt that I must either move on, or die. I moved on, in the midst of the conversation, and looked back over my shoulder now and then to answer questions, which he continued to ask.
“Are you going to walk up the hill?”
“Yes.”
“Can you do it?”
“O, yes.”
“Aint you afraid you’ll fall?”
“No.”
I began to ascend the acclivity, and he talked on.