He was an American, as one might have fancied from his behaviour, a tall, dark-skinned person, wearing a drooping moustache after the former style of Cousin Egbert, supplemented by an imperial. He wore a loose-fitting suit of black which had evidently received no proper attention from the day he purchased it. Under a folded collar he wore a narrow cravat tied in a bowknot, and in the bosom of his white shirt there sparkled a diamond such as might have come from a collection of crown-jewels. This much I had time to notice as he neared us. Cousin Egbert had not ceased to shout, nor had he paid the least attention to my tugs at his coat. When the cab’s occupant descended to the pavement they fell upon each other and did for some moments a wild dance such as I imagine they might have seen the red Indians of western America perform. Most savagely they punched each other, calling out in the meantime: “Well, old horse!” and “Who’d ever expected to see you here, darn your old skin!” (Their actual phrases, be it remembered.) The crowd, I was glad to note, fell rapidly away, many of them shrugging their shoulders in a way the French have, and even the waiters about us quickly lost interest in the pair, as if they were hardened to the sight of Americans greeting one another. The two were still saying: “Well! well!” rather breathlessly, but had become a bit more coherent. “Jeff Tuttle, you--dashed--old long-horn!” exclaimed Cousin Egbert. “Good old Sour-dough!” exploded the other. “Ain’t this just like old home week!” “I thought mebbe you wouldn’t know me with all my beadwork and my new war-bonnet on,” continued Cousin Egbert. “Know you, why, you knock-kneed old Siwash, I could pick out your hide in a tanyard!” “Well, well, well!” replied Cousin Egbert. “Well, well, well!” said the other, and again they dealt each other smart blows. “Where’d you turn up from?” demanded Cousin Egbert. “Europe,” said the other. “We been all over Europe and Italy--just come from some place up over the divide where they talk Dutch, the Madam and the two girls and me, with the Reverend Timmins and his wife riding line on us. Say, he’s an out-and-out devil for cathedrals--it’s just one church after another with him--Baptist, Methodist, Presbyterian, Lutheran, takes ‘em all in--never overlooks a bet. He’s got Addie and the girls out now. My gosh! it’s solemn work! Me? I ducked out this morning.” “How’d you do it?” “Told the little woman I had to have a tooth pulled--I was working it up on the train all day yesterday. Say, what you all rigged out like that for, Sour-dough, and what you done to your face?” Cousin Egbert here turned to me in some embarrassment. “Colonel Ruggles, shake hands with my friend Jeff Tuttle from the State of Washington.” “Pleased to meet you, Colonel,” said the other before I could explain that I had no military title whatever, never having, in fact, served our King, even in the ranks. He shook my hand warmly.