“Now we glow click, you sabe?” he said, smiling from ear to ear.  “Me know Mlister Seablury.  Him number one man, top-slide,” which was Hop Sing’s way of saying that anything was the very best possible.

The boys soon found that while Hop Sing might be a slow and careful driver, it was due more to the characters of the mules, than to anything else.  The Chinese yelled at them in a queer mixture of his own language, Mexican and American.  He belabored them with a whip, and yanked on the reins, but the animals only ambled slowly along the sunny road, as if they had a certain time schedule, and were determined to stick to it.

“Can’t they go any faster?” asked Ned.

“Flaster?” asked Hop, innocently.  “They Mlexican mules.  No go flast.  Me go flast, mules not,” and he began jumping up and down in his seat, as if that would help matters any.  He redoubled his yells and shouts, and made the whip crack like a pistol, but the mules only wagged their ears and crawled along.

“I guess you’ll have to let matters take their course while you’re here,” suggested the professor.  “You can’t change the habits of the people, or the animals.”

They did manage, after strenuous efforts on Hop’s part, to get to the Seabury bungalow.  It was in the midst of a beautiful garden, and a long walk led up to the house, around which was an adobe wall, with a red gate.  Over the gate was a roof, making a pleasant shade, and there were seats, where one might rest.

In fact some one was resting there as the stage drove up.  He was a colored man, stretched out on his back, sound asleep.

“Well, I wonder if they do anything else in this country but sleep?” asked Jerry.

“Why—­ that’s Ponto, Mr. Seabury’s negro helper,” said Ned.  “Hello, Ponto.  All aboard the Wanderer!”

“What’s dat?  Who done call me?” and the colored man sat up suddenly, rubbing his eyes.  “Who says Wanderer?  Why dat boat—­”

Then he caught sight of the travelers.

“Why, I ‘clar’ t’ gracious!” he exclaimed.  “Ef it ain’t dem motor boys an’ Perfesser Snowgrass!”

“How are you, Ponto?” sang out Bob.

“Fine, sah!  Dat’s what I is!  Fine.  I ‘clar’ t’ gracious I’se glad t’ see yo’!  Git down offen dat stage!  It’ll fall apart in anoder minute!  Go long outer heah, yo’ yellow trash!” and Ponto shook his fist at Hop Sing.  “Wha’ fo’ yo’ stan’ ‘round heah, listen’ t’ what yo’ betters sayin’.”

“I guess I’d better pay him,” said Jerry, and settled with the Celestial, who drove slowly off.

“Now come right in!” exclaimed Ponto.  “I were—­ I were jest thinkin’ out dar on dat bench—­ yais, sah, I were thinkin’, an’ fust thing I knowed I was ’sleep.  It’s a turrible sleepy country, dat’s what ’tis, fer a fact.  I’se gittin’ in turrible lazy habits sence I come heah.  But come on in.  Massa Seabury, he’ll be powerful glad t’ see yo’.  So’ll th’ young ladies.  Dey was sayin’ only las’ night, dat it seemed laik dem boys nevah goin’ t’ come.  But heah yo’ be!  Yais, sah, I were jest thinkin’ out on dat bench—­”