CHAPTER VI
RELATING A MEETING BETWEEN UNCLE ARAD AND THE SAILOR
The old man drove on through the mud and slush of the country road, the wheels of the rickety vehicle first rattling over outcropping rocks and boulders, and then splashing half way to their hubs in the yellow mire.
A mile beyond his own farm he turned into a broader highway which trended to the right—the city “pike.” Woods bordered the way on either side and although the rain had ceased, the drops fell in showers from the trees. It was a nasty day and the horse splashed itself to the belly with the mire.
Not many rods beyond the turn old Arad overtook a man walking in the same direction that he was driving, and as the farmer rattled up, the man stepped to one side and hailed him.
He was a bronzed and bearded fellow, dressed in garments about as seedy as the miser’s own clothing, and although he lacked all of twenty years of Arad’s age, his back, as he stood there beside the cart path, seemed almost as bent.
“Hullo, shipmate!” was the man’s greeting, raising his hand for the farmer to stop. “Goin’ toward the city?”
“Wal, I be a piece,” replied Arad grudgingly.
It was something of an effort for him to speak civilly to a casual stranger. I presume he was afraid of wearing out the small stock of civility he possessed.
“Ye’re goin’ in ballast, I see,” said the stranger. “Can’t ye stow me away there?”
“Hey?” responded the farmer, who did not understand the other’s figure of speech.