Harry said, “Well, well, we sure are out west. Here’s poor old Uncle Tom’s Cabin, bag and baggage.” Then he called down to the man with the black coat and said, “How about you, old top? Stranded?”
Then all the squashes of Squash Centre set up a howl.
The man said, very dignified like, “Thank you, for your inquiry, young sir, and might I ask if you came through Jones’ Junction? Are there any trains running?”
By that time our whole caravan had stopped and all the squashes got around and began staring at us.
Harry said, “I don’t believe there are any trains except eastern trains. I don’t believe there’s anything that stops this side of Indianapolis. How far are you going? What’s the matter, didn’t you hit it right among the squashes?”
The man said, “The squashes are without art or patriotism. I thank you for your information, sir. We are both stalled and stranded. We have neither a train to travel on nor money to travel on it if we had. Our friends have not welcomed us as we hoped they would. We have a promising engagement at Grumpy’s Cross-roads some hundred miles distant, where we are under contract with Major Hezekiah Grumpy to give six performances at the Grand Army reunion there. Major Grumpy, sir, fought bravely to stamp out the evil which our play depicts with such pathos.” That was just the way he talked.
Harry said, “So they are having a reunion at Grumpy’s Cross-roads, are they?”
“A very magnificent affair, sir,” that’s just what the man said, “and the major has contracted with us for the presentation of our heart stirring drama with the view of having the dramatic part of the celebration appropriate.”
Geewhiz, it was awful funny to hear him talk.