“It’s a dull day enough,” observed Mr. Tisbett, sociably, on one of these resting spells, and crossing his legs leisurely, “for trade, that is. Beats all how that Mis’ Sprigg’s tongue goes,” he pointed backward with his tongue toward the open window.
Joel, who cared little for Mrs. Sprigg’s tongue, now began to use his own, clamoring freshly to be allowed to drive, or at least, to hold the reins when the horses were resting.
“When you’re bigger, ye may,” said Mr. Tisbett, pushing back his straw hat from his forehead.
“I am bigger,” said Joel, straightening up.
“I see,” said the stage-driver with a loud “so ye be.”
“Then can’t I take ’em?” cried Joel, triumphantly.
“Well, ye’ll be bigger yet in a little while—you wait and see,” said Mr. Tisbett. “You’ll grow faster ef you’re quiet.”
“Will I?” cried Joel, eagerly.
“Yes, indeed,” the stage-driver nodded emphatically. “You’ll be as big as Ben if you don’t look out. That’s his cap, ain’t it, you’ve got on your head?”
Joel, at this, reminded of his head and what it carried, clapped his hands to it. “Yes, ’tis,” he nodded.