“Hey, Tom! What's the matter with you?” called Uncle Henry. “Here we are!”
The driver turned a broad, good-humored face to look over his burly shoulder. Nan saw that Tom Sherwood strongly resembled his father.
“That you, Dad?” he drawled. “I'd about given you up. I didn't want to drive down to the depot with these crazy creatures. And if I'd left 'em standing they'd have kicked Phil's shed to pieces, I do believe. The train's been in half an hour and more.”
“I know,” said his father. “I had a mess of words with Ged Raffer. That delayed me.”
“You ought to give him the back of your hand, and say no more about it,” declared Tom, in a tone that showed he warmed in his bosom the family grudge against the fox-faced man.
“Here's your Cousin Nan, Tom,” said his father, without making rejoinder to the young man's observation. “She must go into Phil's and get warm and have a cup of hot coffee. I'll take some in a new-fangled bottle I bought down in Chicago, so we can all have a hot drink on the way home.”
“'Twon't keep warm twenty miles,” said Tom.
“Yes 'twill. It'll keep HOT for twenty miles and more. They call it a thermos bottle. It'll keep coffee hot, or cold, for a day, just as you please.”
“Jehosaphat, Dad! What kind of a swindle's that? How does the bottle know whether you want your drink hot or cold? Huh! Those city folks couldn't make me believe any such thing,” objected the son.
Nan had to giggle at that, and Uncle Henry demanded: “Did you ever see such a gump? Go on down to the station and tell Abe to fling that trunk and the bags into the back of the sled. We'll have our coffee, and get the thermos bottle filled, too, by the time you come back.”