“Me neither,” said Tom.
“I never seed nothin’ like it,” Jonathan grumbled.
Old Tom wagged his head.
“No, sir!” Jonathan declared. “Never seed nothin’ like it.”
“Me neither.”
“Not like this,” said Jonathan, testily.
“Me neither,” old Tom agreed. “Not like this. No, sir; me neither, b’y!”
’Twas a grand, companionable exchange of ideas! A gush of talk! A whirlwind of opinion! Both enjoyed it—were relieved by it: rid of the gathered thought of long hours alone on the grounds. Jonathan Stock had expressed himself freely and at length; so, too, old Tom Lull. ’Twas heartening—this easy sociability. Tom Lull was glad that he had waited in the lee of the Rock o’ Wishes; he had felt the need of conversation, and was now gratified; so, too, Jonathan Stock. But now, quite exhausted of ideas, they proceeded in silence, pulling mechanically through the dripping mist. From time to time old Tom Lull wagged his head and darkly muttered; but the words invariably got lost in his mouth.
Presently both punts came to Jonathan Stock’s stage.
“I ’low,” Jonathan exclaimed, in parting, “I never seed nothin’ like it!”