“Turn your light on that one against the fence, Ned,” commanded Dorothy. “Now look, sir,” she added, to the old negro. “Is that your cow?”
“Suah is!” declared the darkey, gladly. “Das my Sookey-cow. Law-see! She done broke her horn. I wisht she bruk two on ’em; den she couldn’t hook herself t’rough de parstur fence no mo’.”
“Well! what do you know about that?” demanded Tavia.
“This constable ought to have his badge taken away,” grumbled Nat.
Aunt Winnie was a most timid lady, but she was angry now. “You shall be reported for this, sir, just as soon as I get back from the West,” she promised the farmer. “Give the colored man five dollars, Ned. He deserves something for showing us what this other man is.”
The old darkey was tickled enough to accept a five dollar note for the loss of the cow’s horn. The creature was not really hurt, and everybody was satisfied save the constable-farmer who had over-reached himself. He dared say nothing more about arresting the automobile party, and the two cars soon got under way again and shot off along the road to Portersburg station.
There was no further adventure on the way. They arrived at the station with five good minutes to spare. The town was asleep, but the agent was in his office with the tickets for Mrs. White’s party and the coupons for the Pullman berths.
They were to have a section to themselves, and an extra berth besides. Dorothy was to occupy this extra berth, which proved to be an upper.
Everybody else aboard the car was asleep and the porter made up their berths at once. “I do so hate to half undress in the corridor of a car,” grumbled Tavia. “It’s as bad as camping out.”
“But we pay good money for the privilege,” said Dorothy. “I wonder why we are always so easy—we Americans?”