"Wa'al, then, ye've got a lot a' pleasure ahead on ye," remarked Mr. Kimball, "thet's all I've got t' say. But Land o' Goshen, here I be talkin', 'stid a leadin' th' way t' th' hotel. Come 'long now, 't ain't fer," and they started off in lively fashion, while Roger wondered what sort of a man his uncle was. Though he did not eat a hearty meal, the boy, under the eyes of Mr. Kimball, made out quite a breakfast, while his companion put away a hearty one, with evident relish. The waiter was kept busy, and Roger wondered vaguely how a man could drink so many cups of coffee as his uncle did; no less than four large ones being disposed of. "We don't start back 'til three o'clock," said Mr. Kimball, using his napkin rapidly. "Porter Amidown's stage leaves then. I'd a druv out 'ith th' Democrat wagin, but it needs a new wheel, so I calalated I'd better come in 'n' go out by th' stage." "Is that Democratic too?" asked Roger, who, like nearly every New York boy, was of the political faith of his father, who was a Republican. "Democrat? Th' stage Democrat? Land no, Porter's a rip-snortin' Prohib. Oh, I see, ye thought my wagin was a Democrat one, 'stid a' bein' Republican. Ha! ha! Why we call them vehicles thet name, not 'cause they're in politics, but jist t' hev a way a' speakin' 'bout 'em, thet's all, same's a phaeton er runabout. Th' stage a Democrat! Ho! ho! Don't ye let Porter hear ye say thet," and Mr. Kimball seemed quite tickled over Roger's natural mistake. "So's we don't start back 'til three o'clock," he went on, occasionally chuckling over the joke, "we'll hev some time t' do a leetle tradin', fer I didn't finish yist'day. Thet'll give ye a chanst t' look around th' city. Ade, he's yer cousin, ye know, wanted me t' bring him 'long, but I calalated there'd be trouble ef I did, so I left him hum. He'd want ye t' rassal right here in th' street." "Rassal?" inquired Roger, wondering what was meant. "Yep, rassal. Ketch 's ketch kin, collar 'n' elbow, ye know. Ade 's dead set on rassalin'. Do ye do it much?" "No," said Roger, "I'm not much good at wrestling," and he began to be a little apprehensive as to the character of his cousin Adrian. "Wa'al, ye'll hev t' rassal 'ith him when ye git hum," remarked Mr. Kimball, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. "He's allers a rassalin' all th' boys, th' hired men, 'n' so on." "Is he pretty strong?" asked Roger. "Tol'able, jest tol'able," replied Mr. Kimball. "But ye needn't worry, he'll let ye alone ef he finds out he kin throw ye. He never rassals th' second time 'ith anybody he kin throw, lessen it's fer practice. He's allers tryin' t' tackle some un a leetle better 'n' what he is. Wants t' git a reputation, he says. His mother says he wants t' git a busted neck, 'n' say, d' ye know," and Mr. Kimball whispered, "sometimes I think she's more 'n' half right, I do, honest Injun, I do," and he shook his head warningly.