"Is this here Roger Anderson?" came from beneath the light sandy moustache, in a pleasant though high-pitched voice.
"I'm Roger; are you Uncle Bert?" asked the boy.
"Wa'al, I reckon thet's what! Guessed ye th' fust time, didn't I," and this fact seemed to give Mr. Kimball so much pleasure that he laughed with a heartiness which made several smile.
"Wa'al now, but d'ye know, I'm glad t' see ye! Ye're a leetle late, but land love ye, comin' three hunderd miles is no joke. I calalate I'd be a trifle behindhand myself. Now, let's hev yer satchel, 'n' we'll go 'n' git some breakfust. I ain't eat yit. Ye see I come out from Cardiff yist'day, hevin' t' do some tradin', 'n' I stayed over night at th' Candee House, so's t' be on hand t' meet ye. I told th' waiter at my table I'd hev a hungry boy back 'ith me soon. Ye be hungry, ain't ye?" with rather an anxious look at Roger.
"Well, not so very," admitted the boy, wondering a little at the strange sounding talk of his uncle, who spoke the central New York farmers' homely but comprehensive dialect.
"Oh, shucks now!" exclaimed Mr. Kimball. "I were calalatin' on seein' ye race 'ith me eatin' ham 'n' eggs 'n' bread 'n' butter," and he seemed a bit disappointed. "Howsomever we'll remedy thet when we git ye out t' Cardiff. 'Fore ye've been thar a week I'll hev ye eatin' salt-risin' bread, covered 'ith butter 'n' honey—say 'j ever tackle real fresh salt-risin' bread, spread thick 'ith nice brown buckwheat honey, right outen th' hives?"
"I never did," confessed Roger.
"Wa'al, then, ye've got a lot a' pleasure ahead on ye," remarked Mr. Kimball, "thet's all I've got t' say. But Land o' Goshen, here I be talkin', 'stid a leadin' th' way t' th' hotel. Come 'long now, 't ain't fer," and they started off in lively fashion, while Roger wondered what sort of a man his uncle was.
Though he did not eat a hearty meal, the boy, under the eyes of Mr. Kimball, made out quite a breakfast, while his companion put away a hearty one, with evident relish. The waiter was kept busy, and Roger wondered vaguely how a man could drink so many cups of coffee as his uncle did; no less than four large ones being disposed of.
"We don't start back 'til three o'clock," said Mr. Kimball, using his napkin rapidly. "Porter Amidown's stage leaves then. I'd a druv out 'ith th' Democrat wagin, but it needs a new wheel, so I calalated I'd better come in 'n' go out by th' stage."