The first day took them through a pleasant settled land dotted with prosperous looking farms; but it was rather in the nature of a shock to Stephen that none of their fellow-travellers in the Concord coach had ever heard of Gibbs or of Grant City. Still the consensus of opinion seemed to be that this was nothing against either Gibbs or Grant City—there might be such a man, and there might be such a town.
The driver, however, proved to be better informed; and from him Stephen gleaned certain facts that went far toward reassuring him. He had been able to secure a seat at his side the second day, he and Marian alone remaining of those who had filled the coach at its start. According to the driver, Grant City was right smart of a place; did he know General Gibbs? Yes, he knew Gibbs—everyone knew Gibbs, he was right smart of a man, a busy bossy sort of a cuss who was always hollering; it was Fourth of July every day in the week and Sunday, too, with him.
He had been very successful, Stephen ventured. Well, yes, the man supposed so, but he only had Gibbs own word for it.
They lapsed into silence after this, but whether or not his informant entirely approved of Gibbs, Stephen was unable to decide. The driver slowly considered Stephen out of the corner of his eye, then he drawled:
“You going to Grant City?”
“Yes.”
“Going to start up in business, maybe?”
“Perhaps.”
“Know Gibbs?”
“Yes.”