The driver, an inquisitive fellow, had several times tried to draw him into conversation, that he might find out something concerning him, for he seemed familiar with the names of places along the river, and yet kept up the disguise of a stranger.

But on nothing, except the vessels passing up and down the river, did he seem inclined to be communicative.

On these he would make such remarks as showed familiarity with the sea.

Indeed his mind seemed absorbed in something of deep and painful interest.
They drew up at the little inn with the swinging sign near Dobbs' Ferry, for the driver said his horse was jaded, and needed feed and rest before they proceeded further, and were met by the short, corpulent landlord, who, after ordering the animal cared for, invited them into the house, saying there was a good supper ready.
"It is sundown now," said the passenger, in a tone of impatience, as he alighted from the wagon, and received the landlord's extended hand, "and we are still six miles away.

You have forfeited the inducement I offered to quicken your speed; but it is no offset to my disappointment." This was addressed to the driver, who muttered something, about the heavy roads, in reply, tossed his hat into a chair on the porch, and with an independent and half-defiant air, walked into the house and took his seat at the supper table.
"'Tisn't the first time Sam's supped at my house," said the landlord, bowing and inviting the stranger to walk in.