We found McGlynn in line about a block down the street. When he saw me coming he pulled a fat buckskin bag from his breeches pocket, opened its mouth, and shook a quantity of its contents, by guess, into the palm of his hand.
“There you are,” said he; “that’s near enough. I’m a pretty good guesser. I hope you took care of the mules all right; you ought to, you’re from a farm.”
“I fixed ’em.”
“And the mud? How many times did you get stuck?”
“Not at all.”
He looked at me with surprise.
“Would you think of that, now!” said he. “You must have loaded her light.”
“I did.”
“Did you get all the goods over?”
“Yes.”