He redoubled his yells and shouts,
and made the whip crack like a pistol, but the mules only wagged their
ears and crawled along.
"I guess you'll have to let matters take their course while you're
here," suggested the professor. "You can't change the habits of the
people, or the animals."
They did manage, after strenuous efforts on Hop's part, to get to the
Seabury bungalow. It was in the midst of a beautiful garden, and a
long walk led up to the house, around which was an adobe wall, with a
red gate. Over the gate was a roof, making a pleasant shade, and there
were seats, where one might rest.
In fact some one was resting there as the stage drove up. He was a
colored man, stretched out on his back, sound asleep.
"Well, I wonder if they do anything else in this country but sleep?"
asked Jerry.
"Why-- that's Ponto, Mr. Seabury's negro helper," said Ned. "Hello,
Ponto. All aboard the Wanderer!"
"What's dat? Who done call me?" and the colored man sat up suddenly,
rubbing his eyes. "Who says Wanderer? Why dat boat--"
Then he caught sight of the travelers.
"Why, I 'clar' t' gracious!" he exclaimed. "Ef it ain't dem motor boys
an' Perfesser Snowgrass!"
"How are you, Ponto?" sang out Bob.
"Fine, sah! Dat's what I is! Fine. I 'clar' t' gracious I'se glad t'
see yo'! Git down offen dat stage! It'll fall apart in anoder minute!
Go long outer heah, yo' yellow trash!" and Ponto shook his fist at Hop
Sing. "Wha' fo' yo' stan' 'round heah, listen' t' what yo' betters
sayin'.
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