“New York City—and that’s some town, let me tell you.”
“Yeh—so I’ve heran say. How did yeh get to come here to this vendue?” persisted Abner.
“I don’t know—I’m only the chauffeur. Why don’t you ask the ladies if you are so anxious to know?” Carl was growing angry.
“All right—no harm meant,” replied Abner, soothingly, as he turned away.
Carl resumed his pipe, and Abner strolled over to the group of men sitting on wheel-barrows, ploughs, chicken-coops, etc. With a furtive look over his shoulder, to make sure the city driver was not listening, Abner began to explain to his interested friends who the strangers were.
But he had not quite ended his tale before an old buggy drove up and the auctioneer got out. He glanced over the assembled farmers with an appraising eye, and then carefully hitched the old nag to a tree. This done, he broke off a great chunk of tobacco from a cake kept in a blue paper, and popped it into his mouth.
Abner walked over to the white-washed fence to greet his superior. “How’s the kid?” were his first words.
“All right, now. He diden’ swaller the pin, after all. The doctor found it down inside his shirt, an’ it cost me a dollar besides all that good mustard and eppicac, fer nuthin’!”
“Well, well!” sympathized Abner, not knowing what would be best to say in such a delicate case.
“Did yuh keep all the folks about when I sent word over?” continued the auctioneer.