“Where you going?” asked the man. He had a deep, gruff voice and for the first time Jack noticed that he didn’t seem a particularly amiable sort of person. He had an iron-gray beard and heavy eyebrows of the same hue, a long thin nose and steely blue eyes that bored into one like gimlets. The face was deeply wrinkled and darkly tanned. He wore black clothes that seemed too loose for even his large and rugged body and a queer broad-brimmed felt hat of snuff color. Jack, with the man’s impatient and unfriendly gaze on him, wished that he had not asked for a ride. But the colt was pawing impatiently and, having made the start, Jack determined to go on with it.
“I’m going to town, sir,” answered Jack. “I thought if you didn’t mind I’d like a lift. It’s pretty hot walking; dusty, too.”
“Get in,” said the man gruffly.
Jack climbed to the seat, the driver flicked the reins and the horse whisked them off down the road.
The man gave all his attention to the horse, which, impatient of the stop, was inclined to be frisky, and for the first few minutes there was silence in the buggy. Presently, however, the driver, without turning his head, put a question.
“You one o’ them Maple Ridge boys?” he asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“Huh!”
Silence descended again. They reached the main road and turned eastward with the trolley track.