"That's me," was the slow answer. "Reckon you are his nevvy, aint you?"
"I am, and this is the young man who came out here with me."
"I'm a-waitin' for you. Let see, your name's Webb, aint it?"
"Yes, Owen Webb, and this is Dale Bradford."
"My name's Sandy Hopgood, although I aint no good on the hop at all." The man grinned at his little joke. "Got your outfits with you? If you have we'll dump 'em in the wagon and start. We've got nigh on to twenty miles between us an' a supper table, an' if you're too long Mrs. Hoover won't keep a blessed thing a-waitin' for you."
"In that case we'd better get something to eat before we start," put in Dale, who was already hungry.
"Aint no hotel around here."
"Then we'll get some crackers and cheese, or something else, at the store," said Owen. "Mr. Hopgood, come and have lunch with us."
"Well—er—I wouldn't mind, but the fact is I—er—I didn't bring no money with me."
"That's all right—we'll stand for it."