He disregarded me entirely and moved about the car squinting at it as if it did not belong to me at all. I felt quite an outsider, the comrade of skunks and ground-hogs. He seemed to think I would wait till he completed his leisurely inspection.
“If I’d a had all wuz belongin’ ter me,” he observed carelessly, “I might o’ had one o’ them pesky contraptions.”
I answered with that insincere phrase which motorists are so fond of using to the uninitiated. “You’re very lucky not to have one,” I said: “they’re a lot of trouble.” And I smiled inwardly at the thought of his driving one. “You going my way?” I added.
“Yer ain’t goin’ by south road, mebbe?” he asked.
“South road; where is that?” I said.
“Yer know Hawkeye Spoke them youngsters got?”
“I don’t,” I said, “but it’s a bully good name all right. Hawkeye. I’m going north up to Kingston.”
“They got one of them cylums there?” he said.
“Cylums?” I queried.
“Fer youngsters.”