And the
Dean, always courteous and kind to his guest, managed, nevertheless, to
think of some pressing business that demanded his immediate and personal
attention whenever the visitor sought to engage him in conversation. The
professor, quite naturally holding the cattleman to be but a rude,
illiterate and wholly materialistic creature, but little superior in
intellectual and spiritual powers to his own beasts, sought merely to
investigate the Dean's mental works, with as little regard for the
Dean's feelings as a biologist would show toward a hug. The Dean
confided to Phil and Patches, one day when he had escaped to the
blacksmith shop where the men were shoeing their horses, that the
professor was harmlessly insane. "Just think," he exploded, "of the
poor, little fool livin' in Chicago for three years, an' never once
goin' out to the stockyards even!"
It remained, therefore, for Kitty--the only worshiper of the professor's
gods in Williamson Valley--to supply that companionship which seems so
necessary even to those whose souls are so far removed from material
wants. In short, as Little Billy put it, with a boy's irreverence,
"Kitty rode herd on the professor.
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