"Is there a hotel in Jackson?" he asked.
"There is a tavern, but it's a low place," answered the farmer. "A good
deal of liquor is sold there, and Mr. Fairfield, our agent, is one of
the most constant patrons of the bar."
"I don't think I should like to stop there," said Frank. "Isn't there
any private family where I can get board for a week or two?"
"If you don't object to plain fare," said the farmer, "I might agree to
board you myself."
This was precisely what Frank wanted, and he replied that nothing would
suit him better.
"We live humbly," continued Mr. Hamlin--for this, Frank learned, was his
driver's name--"but we will try to make you comfortable."
"I feel sure of that, sir, and I am much obliged to you for receiving
me."
"As to terms, you can pay whatever you can afford. My wife and children
will be glad to see you. It's pretty quiet out here, and it breaks the
monotony to meet any person from the East."
"How long have you lived in Jackson, Mr. Hamlin?"
"About eight years. I was not brought up as a farmer, but became one
from necessity. I was a bookkeeper in Chicago for a good many years,
until I found the confinement and close work were injuring my health.
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