John, who rightly conjectured that the glass of "bitters" was only another name for New England rum, could not help thinking that Mr. Huxter would have been quite as well off without it; but this thought he of course kept to himself.
"The old gentleman is rather fond of 'wetting his whistle,' isn't he?" said the driver, familiarly.
"So it seems," said John, briefly.
He did not care to discuss the conduct of his stepmother's brother with any one, and therefore confined himself to this remark. At twelve o'clock they had travelled forty miles.
"The stage will stop half an hour for dinner," said the driver, as he drew up in front of an old-fashioned country tavern.
"This is as far as I go," said the driver to John. "Do you stop here?"
"No, we go further on."
"I suppose you'll be comin' back this way in a few days?"
"I expect so. By the way, if you see Sam Selwyn to-night, just tell him that I was one of your passengers this morning."