Wilbur longed for the return of his father, so he could tell him about the typesetting machine and about this other good loose trade that had opened so opportunely.
And there were other trades--seemingly loose enough--in which one drove the most delightful wagons, and which endured the year round and not, as with the ice trade, merely for the summer.

There was, for example, driving an express wagon.

Afternoons, when the ice chests of Newbern had been replenished and Bill Bardin disappeared in the more obscure interests of his craft, Wilbur would often ride with Rufus Paulding, Newbern's express agent.

Rufus drove one excellent horse to a smart green wagon, and brought packages from the depot, which he delivered about the town.

Being a companionable sort, he was not averse to Wilbur Cowan's company on his cushioned seat.