"What do you think of Shakespeare?" enquired Richardson.
"I haven't time to waste on him. The Bible is good enough for me."
"Do you approve of football?" I asked.
"No, athletics are the work of the devil."
"This fellow is what I call a real broad-minded man. He's a relic of the last century. I didn't know that people of his sort still existed," I said to Richardson.
"Do you ever use the word 'damn'?" Richardson asked him.
"No man with the spirit of Christ would ever use such a word. I refuse to talk to you boys any longer," he concluded, perceiving that we were making fun of him. He sat in silence the rest of the trip and pouted like a five-year-old child.
The rain continued. The wagon wheels became heavy with mud. The horses had hard work pulling the heavy coaches over the roadless fields. The front wheels of one of the wagons sank several feet in the mud and the vehicle was securely anchored. The horses were unable to pull it out. Another team was hitched on. The four horses struggled with the stage while their drivers whipped them up. One horse after another fell in the slippery mud. Not until a third team was hitched on was the wagon extricated from the mud-hole.
