“For both on us?”
“For each on us.”
“Both on us, I reckon.”
“Reckon it’s each.”
“I’ve got jess seventy-five cents in hard money.”
“Give it to him, and tell him it’s all yer got; reckon he’ll let us go.”
At this I moved, to attract their attention; the old man started, and looked towards me for a moment, and said no more. I soon afterwards walked out on the platform, passing him, and the conductor came in, and collected their fare; I then returned, and stood near them, looking out of the window of the door. The old man had a good-humoured, thin, withered, very brown face, and there was a speaking twinkle in his eye. He was dressed in clothes much of the Quaker cut—a broad-brimmed, low hat; white cotton shirt, open in front, and without cravat, showing his hairy breast; a long-skirted, snuff-coloured coat, of very coarse homespun; short trousers, of brown drilling; red woollen stockings, and heavy cow-hide shoes. He presently asked the time of day; I gave it to him, and we continued in conversation, as follows:—
“Right cold weather.”
“Yes.”
“G’wine to Branchville?”