The brothers got their mail at the post-office wicket, and came out on the gallery again, laughing loudly. They were duly introduced to Lockwood, and shook his hand heartily.
“Right glad to know you, suh,” declared the eldest. “I hope you’ll come in and see us. Everybody knows where we-all live. Will you be stoppin’ long?”
“Mr. Lockwood’s the new woods rider for the turpentine camp,” the postmaster explained.
“Well, I’m not sure about that yet,” Lockwood put in. “It depends on Mr. Craig. I haven’t seen him.”
“I reckon that’ll be all right,” said Tom Power, with large optimism “I might run you down to the camp. Charley Craig’s a good friend of mine. Only he likely wouldn’t be there now. We’ll be comin’ back by here in an hour or so. Kin you wait that long?”
“Why, yes. That’ll be mighty good of you,” said Lockwood gratefully. Things were shaping just as he could have wished. “I’ll wait here a while. But don’t trouble unless it happens to suit.”
“Suit us right down to the ground,” cried the younger brother. “We’ve got to go down to the landing right now. Got to see about some freight that come in on the boat last night. Any of you-all want to ride down with us?”
Two of the idlers accepted, and the big car went off in a whirl of sand.
“Them boys certainly are goin’ the pace,” some one said.
“They shorely are,” a second concurred. “Well, I reckon they’ve got the price, and they’re both of ’em good fellows.”