“Who-a-ah!” drawled the farmer slowly, as he pulled his horse to a stop. “Mount Major?” he went on. “Wa’al, you kin take either road,” he said.
“Which one is the best?” Mr. Martin wanted to know.
The farmer seemed to be considering this for a moment.
“Both of ’em’s prutty wuss!” he replied. “They’s both bad enough, though not so much now’s wet weather.”
“Well, if both roads are bad,” said Mr. Martin, with a smile at the farmer’s odd talk and ways, “which road is the shorter?”
This appeared to be another puzzle. He scratched his head and finally answered:
“Wa’al, ef anythin’ the one I jest come over’s a leetle mite shorter, an’ ’tain’t so much at that.”
“Even a little difference will save us some time,” said Mr. Martin. “I’m much obliged to you.”
“Don’t mention it! G’lang!” the farmer called to his horse, and he pulled to one side to get around the automobile which had stopped in the fork of the road.
“We’ll take the right hand road,” said Mr. Martin.