“Here I am, Bart!” I sang out. “What’s wanted?”
“Hullo, Rube! Nothin’s wanted. Here’s a visitor to see you,—your uncle, all the way from Western parts.”
“Oh!”
I stopped short to look at the man as he hopped to the ground. He was slimly built, with a thin, sharp face, and cold gray eyes. He carried a hand-satchel, and this he swung from his right to his left hand as he came forward to greet me.
“So this is my nephew Reuben?” he said in a high voice, as we shook hands. “I suppose you’ve been expecting me?”
“Not quite so soon,” I replied. “I thought you’d come in a day or two, sir.”
“Well, I made first-class time. The train left half an hour after the funeral was over, and I didn’t see no use in hanging around any longer. I settled all the bills beforehand. They were mighty high too. A hundred and twenty-five dollars for the coffin and carriage, and fifty dollars for the ground, besides twenty-five for the undertaker, which brings the whole up to two hundred dollars.”
By this time the stage-coach was on its way again, and we were left standing alone.
“Tell me about my father,” I said. “I want to know all about how the awful thing happened.”