“Lordy, but I didn’t imagine dis was gwine tuh be sich er ceremonious occasion. I done lef’ mah curlin’ irons tuh home, but maybe yo’-all will take pity on er pooh colored gem’man en allow him tuh comb his curly locks in front ob yo’ solitary glass.”
“Of course, we will, Ephy,” said Aurora—“especially after all that fine language. You shall have your turn—I’ll see to that.”
It was eight o’clock when Gerald stopped the car in front of a small village inn. The community was just bestirring itself, and the inhabitants gazed long and curiously at the party.
Addressing a middle-aged man who sat on the front steps of the hostelry, smoking a pipe, Gerald said:
“How about breakfast for seven?”
“Reckon we can accommodate you,” was the reply, in a low drawl—“that is, if you ain’t too particular what you eat.”
“Needn’t worry about that. We’re hungry—that’s all. Some fresh milk and eggs, some crisp slices of fried bacon, a cup of coffee, and a few things of a similar nature will be more than sufficient.”
“You’ve just hit off my bill o’ fare to a T,” the man responded, grinning. “Come in and make yourselves at home, while I go tell Martha there’s some extry mouths to feed.”
The members of the little camping party needed no urging, for the early morning ride had given them large appetites, which they were anxious to satiate.
Soon the Ajax was standing silent in front of the building, while its occupants were grouped in the little parlor of the hotel, waiting the welcome call to breakfast.