In fact some one was resting there as the stage drove up. He was a colored man, stretched out on his back, sound asleep.
“Well, I wonder if they do anything else in this country but sleep?” asked Jerry.
“Why—that’s Ponto, Mr. Seabury’s negro helper,” said Ned. “Hello, Ponto. All aboard the Wanderer!”
“What’s dat? Who done call me?” and the colored man sat up suddenly, rubbing his eyes. “Who says Wanderer? Why dat boat—”
Then he caught sight of the travelers.
“Why, I ’clar’ t’ gracious!” he exclaimed. “Ef it ain’t dem motor boys an’ Perfesser Snowgrass!”
“How are you, Ponto?” sang out Bob.
“Fine, sah! Dat’s what I is! Fine. I ’clar’ t’ gracious I’se glad t’ see yo’! Git down offen dat stage! It’ll fall apart in anoder minute! Go long outer heah, yo’ yellow trash!” and Ponto shook his fist at Hop Sing. “Wha’ fo’ yo’ stan’ ‘round heah, listen’ t’ what yo’ betters sayin’.”
“I guess I’d better pay him,” said Jerry, and settled with the Celestial, who drove slowly off.
“Now come right in!” exclaimed Ponto. “I were—I were jest thinkin’ out dar on dat bench—yais, sah, I were thinkin’, an’ fust thing I knowed I was ’sleep. It’s a turrible sleepy country, dat’s what ’tis, fer a fact. I’se gittin’ in turrible lazy habits sence I come heah. But come on in. Massa Seabury, he’ll be powerful glad t’ see yo’. So’ll th’ young ladies. Dey was sayin’ only las’ night, dat it seemed laik dem boys nevah goin’ t’ come. But heah yo’ be! Yais, sah, I were jest thinkin’ out on dat bench—”