"Professor Parkhill," said Phil coolly, "you were saying that you had
never seen a genuine cowboy in his native haunt. Permit me to introduce
a typical specimen, Mr. Honorable Patches. Patches, this is Professor
Parkhill."
"Phil," murmured Kitty, "how can you?"
The Professor was gazing at Patches as though fascinated. And Patches,
his weather-beaten face as grave as the face of a wooden Indian, stared
back at the Professor with a blank, open-mouthed and wild-eyed
expression of rustic wonder that convulsed Phil and made Kitty turn away
to hide a smile.
"Howdy! Proud to meet up with you, mister," drawled the typical specimen
of the genus cowboy. And then, as though suddenly remembering his
manners, he leaped to the ground and strode awkwardly forward, one hand
outstretched in greeting, the other holding fast to Stranger's bridle
rein, while the horse danced and plunged about with reckless
indifference to the polite intentions of his master.
The Professor backed fearfully away from the dangerous looking horse and
the equally formidable-appearing cowboy. Whereat Patches addressed
Stranger with a roar of savage wrath.
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