It was almost nightfall, and the beautiful glow of an ocean sunset rested over the place. At the rear of the station an aged stage driver sat nodding on his turnout. The stage coach was an "old timer," and had carried many a merry party of sightseers through the sandy roads of Oceanport and Sunset Beach, while Hank, the driver, called out all spots of interest along the way. And Hank had a way of making things interesting.
"Pike's Peak," he would call out for Cliff Hill.
"The Giant's Causeway," he would announce for Rocky Turn.
And so Hank was a very popular stage driver, and never had to look for trade—it always came to him.
"That's our coach," said Mr. Bobbsey, espying Hank. "Hello there! Going to the beach?" he called to the sleepy driver.
"That's for you to say," replied Hank, straightening up.
"Could we get to Ocean Cliff—Minturn's place—before dark?" asked Mr. Bobbsey, noticing how rickety the old stagecoach was.
