"We must stop here, Frank. My old friend, Ingliss, a brother trigger,
too, would think the world was coming to an end if I drove by--
twenty-nine minutes these six miles," he added, looking at his watch, "that
will do! Now, Tim, look sharp--just a sup of water! Good day--good day
to you, Mr. Ingliss; now for a glass of your milk punch"--and mine host
disappeared, and in a moment came forth with two rummers of the
delicious compound, a big bright lump of ice bobbing about in each among
the nutmeg.
"What, off again for Orange county, Mr. Archer? I was telling the old
woman yesterday that we should have you by before long; well, you'll
find cock pretty plenty, I expect; there was a chap by here from Ulster
--let me see, what day was it--Friday, I guess--with produce, and he was
telling, they have had no cold snap yet up there! Thank you, sir, good
luck to you!"
And off we went again, along a level road, crossing the broad, slow
river from whence it takes its name, into the town of Hackensack.
"We breakfast here, Frank"--as he pulled up beneath the low Dutch shed
projecting over half the road in front of the neat tavern--"How are you,
Mr. Vanderbeck--we want a beefsteak, and a cup of tea, as quick as you
can give it us; we'll make the tea ourselves; bring in the black tea,
Tim--the nags as usual.
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