"Well, you've got me the'a, Mr. Landa; I guess I'll ask Mis' Atwell."
"The'e's no hurry," said Lander. "That buckboa'd be round pretty soon?" he asked of the clerk.
"Be right along now, Mr. Lander," said the clerk, soothingly. He stepped out to the platform that the teams drove up to from the stable, and came back to say that it was coming. "I believe you said you wanted something you could drive yourself?"
"No, I didn't, young man," answered the elder sharply. But the next moment he added, "Come to think of it, I guess it's just as well. You needn't get me no driver. I guess I know the way well enough. You put me in a hitchin' strap."
"All right, Mr. Lander," said the clerk, meekly.
The landlord had caught the peremptory note in Lander's voice, and he came out of his room again to see that there was nothing going wrong.
"It's all right," said Lander, and went out and got into his buckboard.
"Same horse you had yesterday," said the young clerk. "You don't need to spare the whip."
"I guess I can look out for myself," said Lander, and he shook the reins and gave the horse a smart cut, as a hint of what he might expect.
The landlord joined the clerk in looking after the brisk start the horse made. "Not the way he set off with the old lady, yesterday," suggested the clerk.