The wooden linch-pin of the cart had given way, and the weight of a half-dozen barrels of turpentine had thrown the box off its balance, and rolled the contents about in all directions.
The appearance of the proprietor of this nondescript vehicle was in keeping with his establishment. His coat, which was much too short in the waist and much too long in the skirts, was of the common reddish gray linsey, and his nether garments, which stopped just below the knees, were of the same material. From there downwards, he wore only the covering that is said to have been the fashion in Paradise before Adam took to fig-leaves. His hat had a rim broader than a political platform, and his skin a color half way between tobacco-juice and a tallow candle.
"Wal, Cunnul, how dy'ge?" said the stranger, as we stepped from the carriage.
"Very well, Ned; how are you?"
"Purty wal, Cunnul; had the nagur lately, right smart, but'm gittin' 'roun'."
"You're in a bad fix here, I see. Can Jim help you?"
"Wal, p'raps he moight. Jim, how dy'ge?"
"Sort o' smart, ole feller. But come, stir yerseff; we want ter gwo 'long," replied Jim, with a lack of courtesy that showed he regarded the white man as altogether too "trashy" to be treated with much ceremony.
With the aid of Jim, a new linch-pin was soon whittled out, the turpentine rolled on to the cart, and the vehicle put in a moving condition.
"Where are you hauling your turpentine?" asked the Colonel.