. . . And one
of them had given him a piece of pie and a bottle of excellent coffee
and fretted a bit about the way he was wasting his life. Mr. Poynter
added that in the fashion of certain young darkies who infest the
Southern roads, he would willingly stand on his head for a baked potato
in lieu of a nickel, being very hungry.
"You probably mean by that, that you're going to stay to supper!" said
Diane.
Mr. Poynter meant just that.
"Where," demanded Diane, "is the hay-camp?"
"Well," said Philip, "Ras is a hay-bride-groom. He dreamt he was
married and it made such a profound impression upon him that he went
and married somebody. He slept through his wooing and he slept through
his wedding and I gave him the hay and the cart and Dick Whittington.
I don't think he entirely appreciated Dick either, for he blinked some.
All of which primarily engendered the music-machine inspiration. It's
really a very comfortable way of traveling about and the wagon was
fastidiously fitted up by my distinguished predecessor. The seat's
padded and plenty broad enough to sleep on."
Mr. Poynter presently departed to the music-machine for a peace
offering in the shape of a bow and some arrows upon which, he said,
he'd been working for days.
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