Part 42 (1/2)
I've got to make a trip to Rigg's Corners to sell some dry goods. Got a good buggy?”
”Yes, and a horse you can drive yourself, if you like. Be gone all day?”
”No, don't want to fool with a horse--may want to stay and send the horse back--if I find a place where the grub is better than it is here. See?”
”You'll be back after one meal at any place within a hundred miles of here.” The proprietor laughed.
”Might as well drive yourself. You won't want to send the horse back.
I'm short of drivers just now. Times are bad and travel light, so I let one go.”
”I'll take the Swede there.”
”He's my station hand. Maybe Jake can drive you. Nels, where's Jake?”
”He's dere in the stable. Shake!” he shouted, without glancing up, and Jake slouched out into the yard.
”Jake, here's a gentleman wants you to drive him out into the country,--”
”I'll take the Swede. Jake can drive your station wagon for once.”
G. B. Stiles laughed good-humoredly and returned to the piazza and sat tilted back with his feet on the rail not far from Harry King, who was intently reading the _New York Tribune_. For a while he eyed the young man covertly, then dropped his feet to the floor and turned upon him with a question on the political situation, and deliberately engaged him in conversation, which Harry King entered into courteously yet reluctantly. Evidently he was preoccupied with affairs of his own.
In the stable yard a discussion was going on. ”Dot horse no goot in buggy. Better you sell heem any vay. He yoomp by de cars all tam, und he no goot by buggy.”
”Well, you've got to take him by the buggy, if he is no good. I won't let Jake drive him around the trains, and he won't let Jake go with him out to Rigg's Corners, so you'll have to take the gray and the buggy and go.” The Swede began a sullen protest, but the proprietor shouted back to him, ”You'll do this or leave,” and walked in.
Nels went then into the stable, smiling quietly. He was well satisfied with the arrangement. ”Shake, you put dot big horse by de buggy. No.
Tak' d'oder bridle. I don't drive heem mit ol' bridle; he yoomp too quvick yet. All tam yoomping, dot horse.”
Presently Nels drove round to the front of the hotel with the gray horse and a high-top buggy. Harry King regarded him closely as he pa.s.sed, but Nels looked straight ahead. A boy came out carrying Stiles' heavy valise.
”Put that in behind here,” said Stiles, as he climbed in and seated himself at Nels Nelson's side. The gray leaped forward on the instant with so sudden a jump that he caught at his hat and missed it. Harry King stepped down and picked it up.
”What ails your horse?” he asked, as he restored it to its owner.
”Oh, not'in'. He lak yoomp a little.” And again the horse leaped forward, taking them off at a frantic pace, the high-topped buggy atilt as they turned the corner of the street into the country road.
Harry King returned to his seat. Surely it was the Scandinavian who had walked down from the bluff with him the evening before. There was no mistaking that soft, drawling voice.
”See here! You pull your beast down, I want to talk with you. Hi!
There goes my hat again. Can't you control him better than that? Let me out.” Nels pulled the animal down with a powerful arm, and he stood quietly enough while G. B. Stiles climbed down and walked back for his hat. ”Look here! Can you manage the beast, or can't you?” he asked as he stood beside the vehicle and wiped the dust from his soft black felt with his sleeve. ”If you can't, I'll walk.”
”Oh, yas, I feex heem. I leek heem goot ven ve coom to place n.o.body see me.”
”I guess that's what ails him now. You've done that before.”
”Yas, bot if you no lak I leek heem, ust you yoomp in und I lat heem run goot for two, t'ree mile. Dot feex heem all right.”
”I don't know about that. Sure you can hold him?”
”Yas, I hol' heem so goot he break hee's yaw off, if he don't stop ven I tol' heem. Now, quvick. Whoa! Yoomp in.”