Men of his class are not likely to be lacking in “cuteness,” however, and it was not long before the truth began to dawn on him.
“Sold,” he said, musingly. “Jeff Rogers sold by a runaway schoolboy. Sold on hoss talk, too. Who’d ha’ thought of sech a thing? But then, how well he does it! Beats the perfessionals all holler.”
At all events, it helped a good deal to while away the time till Bar was able to exchange the slow-moving coach for the swiftness and comfort of the railway express train which was to carry him on towards the city.
Little did Bar imagine what was or might be waiting for him on his arrival, although he “imagined” at the liveliest kind of rate.
Trust a boy for that sort of thing.
Even the lightning express train, at last, began to seem as if it must have been kept for awhile on some kind of “low feed.”
Nothing short of a trip by telegraph would have really answered the requirements of Bar’s very natural impatience.
Small blame to him, therefore, if he mystified a whole car-load of passengers by the questions he asked and the answers he obtained from poor fellows who were stealing rides under the floor and out upon the roof of the car.
He couldn’t help it, you know.