"That's the gimlet-eyed lawyer from New Yark?"
"Yes, he's from New York," said the young lady, smiling in his face.
"Where does he live?"
"He's got the sassiest boy, thin. Is it him as took the Kinzer house?"
"I think likely it is. Can you tell me how to get there?"
"Thim Kinzers is foine people. The widdy married one of the gurrels to
Misther Morris."
"But how can I get to the house?"
"Is it there ye're afther goin'?—Hey, Michael, me boy, bring up yer owld rattlethrap, and take the leddy's thrunk. She'll be goin' to the Kinzer place. Sharp, now."
"I should say it was," muttered the young lady, as the remains of what had been a carryall were pulled up beside the platform by the skinny skeleton of what might once have been a horse. "It's a rattletrap."
There was no choice, however; for that was the only public conveyance at the station, and the trunk was already whisked in behind the dashboard, and the driver was waiting for her.
He could afford to wait, as it would be some hours before another train would be in.