Ben Barclay checked the horse he was driving and looked attentively at the speaker. He was a stout-built, dark-complexioned man, with a beard of a week's growth, wearing an old and dirty suit, which would have reduced any tailor to despair if taken to him for cleaning and repairs. A loose hat, with a torn crown, surmounted a singularly ill-favored visage."A tramp, and a hard looking one!" said Ben to himself.He hesitated about answering, being naturally reluctant to have such a traveling companion. "Well, what do you say?" demanded the tramp rather impatiently. "There's plenty of room on that seat, and I'm dead tired."
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