So I walked up to the group of jolly drivers and stablemen intending to ask my directions.

The talking died out and they all turned to look at me.

I suppose I was not altogether a familiar type there in the city streets.
My bag, especially, seemed to set me apart as a curious person.
"Friends," I said, "I am a farmer--" They all broke out laughing; they seemed to know it already! I was just a little taken aback, but I laughed, too, knowing that there was a way of getting at them if only I could find it.
"It may surprise you," I said, "but this is the first time in some dozen years that I've been in a big city like this." "You hadn't 'ave told us, partner!" said one of them, evidently the wit of the group, in a rich Irish brogue.
"Well," I responded, laughing with the best of them, "you've been living right here all the time, and don't realize how amusing and curious the city looks to me.

Why, I feel as though I had been away sleeping for twenty years, like Rip Van Winkle.

When I left the city there was scarcely an automobile to be seen anywhere--and now look at them snorting through the streets.