“Thank you,” he answered, coldly, “but I prefer to remain where I am.”
“But I don’t like to ride backward,” grumbled John.
“Nor do I,” returned Walter.
John was indignant at the refusal. That he, the son of General Wall, should have to sit in an inferior seat, while a boy who did not wear kid gloves occupied a better one, was very vexatious. He frowned at Walter, but the latter was by no means annihilated by the frown. Indeed, from what he was able to judge of John Wall, he felt a degree of satisfaction in disappointing him.
“I will change seats with you, John,” said his father, “if you are so anxious to look out of the window.”
“I’ll give him my seat,” said the farmer. “I don’t mind riding backward; and, as for seein’ out, I know the road by heart.”
Without a word of thanks John took the proffered seat, and this brought him next to Walter. He eyed our hero attentively, but could not make up his mind as to his social position. Walter was well dressed in a neatly fitting suit, but the cloth was not as fine as his. John glanced at his hands, which were encased in a pair of woollen gloves. On the other hand, our hero wore a gold watch and chain--his father’s--and so he might be worth noticing.
“What’s your name?” asked John.
“You may call me Gilbert Howard.”
“Are you going to Portville?”