“And he knows all about the car and is kind enough to offer to teach me to run it. If you approve, Auntie,” the girl added.
“There! that’s neighborly, I declare for’t!” agreed Mrs. Day, wiping her hand on her apron before she offered it to the young engineer. “Sure, I’ve no objection. I expect to l’arn to run it myself after a while.”
“Good Land of Goshen, Almiry!” gasped Uncle Jason. “You’d look harnsome sittin’ up there a-drivin’ that contraption.”
“Why not, I’d like to know?” demanded she, bridling at his sarcasm.
“One thing sure,” grunted her husband, after a moment. “You can’t make that kind of a spectacle of yourself, even if ye want to.”
“Why not?”
“’Cause you couldn’t git in behind that wheel in the fust place to steer it. You’re too fat.”
Janice tried to smooth over this very plain speaking on her uncle’s part by introducing him to Frank Bowman.
“Yes,” put in Marty. “He’s the chap I was telling you about. He’s working for the V. C. Railroad Company, and is going to build the bridge over Mr. Cross Moore’s brook.”
“Glad to meet you, Mr. Day,” said the young man, shaking the farmer’s hardened hand. “Marty and I are already great friends and your niece is kind enough to call me an acquaintance. Hope we shall know each other better.”