The only event to arouse them from the lethargy into which they had fallen was a sudden movement on the part of Miss Abigail that unceremoniously dumped Hans off the seat to the ground, where he was fortunate enough to bounce like a rubber ball out of the way of the rear wheel.
“There!” the spinster was heard to mutter; “perhaps he’ll stop squeezing up to me now. He’s the most uncomfortable person I ever sat beside.”
“Shimminy Gristmas!” Hans gurgled, as he sat up beside the trail and stared at the stage, which had stopped almost immediately. “Vot dot vomans got mit her elpow in, ain’d id? Id vas a recular pattering rams!”
Ephraim Gallup laughed in his hearty manner.
“Darn my punkins! but yeou do look funny, Hans!” he cried. “Whut happened to ye, anyhaow?”
“You toldt me.”
“Begobs! it’s yersilf thot’s a moighty foine ground tumbler,” said Barney, with a chuckle.
“I dond’t toldt you so!” returned the Dutch boy, with attempted sarcasm. “Don’t you pelief mineself!”
“Come, Hans,” laughed Frank, who with Inza, had been watching the Dutch lad’s efforts to make an impression on Miss Abigail. “Pick yourself up and get aboard. We can’t wait all day for you.”
Hans got up with an effort and started to return to his seat; but he stopped, regarding the spinster doubtingly. She gave him a look, and he dodged, as if she had thrown something at him.