"Whoa! You consarned, square-headed, stiff-legged, squint-eyed,
lop-eared, four-flusher, you. Whoa, I tell you! Cain't you see I'm
a-wantin' to shake hands with this here man what the boss has interduced
me to?"
Phil nearly choked. Kitty was looking unutterable things. They did not
know that Patches was suffering from a reaction caused by the discovery
that he had never before met Professor Parkhill.
"You see, mister," he explained gravely, advancing again with Stranger
following nervously, "this here fool horse ain't used to strangers, no
how, 'specially them as don't look, as you might say, just natural
like." He finished with a sheepish grin, as he grasped the visitor's
soft little hand and pumped it up and down with virile energy. Then,
staring with bucolic wonder at the distinguished representative of the
highest culture, he asked, "Be you an honest-to-God professor? I've
heard about such, but I ain't never seen one before."
The little man replied hurriedly, but with timid pride, "Certainly, sir;
yes, certainly."
"You be!" exclaimed the cowboy, as though overcome by his nearness to
such dignity. "Excuse me askin', but if you don't mind, now--what be you
professor of?"
The other answered with more courage, as though his soul found strength
in the very word: "Aesthetics.
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