“No-o, no, that wan't it this time. I—er—All tucked in and warm enough, be you? Ye-es, yes, yes. No, I'm to blame, I shouldn't wonder. I stopped at the—at the store a minute and met one or two of the fellers, and that kind of held me up. All right now? Ye-es, yes, yes. G'long, gal.”
The buggy moved away from the platform. Its passenger, his chilly feet and legs tightly wrapped in the robes, drew a breath of relief between his chattering teeth. He was actually going somewhere at last; whatever happened, morning would not find him propped frozen stiff against the scarred and mangy clapboards of the South Harniss station.
“Warm enough, be you?” inquired his driver cheerfully.
“Yes, thank you.”
“That's good, that's good, that's good. Ye-es, yes, yes. Well—er—Frederick, how do you think you're goin' to like South Harniss?”
The answer was rather non-committal. The boy replied that he had not seen very much of it as yet. His companion seemed to find the statement highly amusing. He chuckled and slapped his knee.
“Ain't seen much of it, eh? No-o, no, no. I guess you ain't, guess you ain't. He, he, he . . . Um . . . Let's see, what was I talkin' about?”
“Why, nothing in particular, I think, Mr.—Mr.—”
“Didn't I tell you my name? Sho, sho! That's funny. My name's Keeler—Laban B. Keeler. That's my name and bookkeeper is my station. South Harniss is my dwellin' place—and I guess likely you'll have to see the minister about the rest of it. He, he, he!”
His passenger, to whom the old schoolbook quatrain was entirely unknown, wondered what on earth the man was talking about. However, he smiled politely and sniffed with a dawning suspicion. It seemed to him there was an unusual scent in the air, a spirituous scent, a—