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"There's one thing on earth I know about, Jack," he said, "and that's a horse." "Not a better jedge in the county, suh," was Jack's response. As Dan whittled a flush rose to his face. "Does Tom Hyden still drive the Hopeville stage?" he asked. "Well, you see it's this way," answered Jack, weighing his words.
His drowsy gaze was turned upon the woodpile hard by, where an old negro slave was chopping aimlessly into a new pine log, and a black urchin gathering chips into a big split basket. At a little distance the Hopeville stage was drawn out under the trees, the empty shafts lying upon the ground, and on the box a red and black rooster stood crowing.
Dan finished the stick and handed it to the child. "I tell you what, Jack," he said suddenly, "I want Tom Hyden's place, and I'm going to drive that stage over to Hopeville this afternoon. Phil Banks runs it, doesn't he? well, I know him." He rose and stood humorously looking out upon the coach. "There's no time like the present," he added, "so I begin work to-day."
Upon the porch he found Jack Hicks seated between a stout gentleman and a thin lady, who were to be the passengers to Hopeville; and as Dan appeared the innkeeper started to his feet and swung open the door of the coach for the thin lady to pass inside. "You'll find it a pleasant ride, mum," he heartily assured her.
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