“Will you take the boat at Fort Madison?”
“Yes.”
“Then, if you desire, we will play a game or two, when we get aboard.”
“I was just about to make the same proposition,” he returned.
The train had not proceeded far, when, as we were passing a saw-mill, we saw a man, who had charge of a yoke of oxen, standing, with open mouth, gazing upon the train, and staring the very locomotive out of countenance. He was one of the homeliest men I ever saw. My companion and I had had some conversation with two lively young ladies, who occupied the seat in front of us, and one of them remarked:
“What a singular-looking man!”
The other laughed.
“He isn’t a very pretty man, is he?” said I.
“No,” retorted my male companion, who probably thought this (because he knew me to be from Pennsylvania,) a thrust at Iowa generally, “he looks like a Pennsylvanian.” This, he certainly meant for a hit at the old Keystone State.
I said nothing, however, but silently determined to have revenge at checkers, when we should get on the boat—unless my companion should prove to be a remarkable player.