Without further objection I wearily took them, finding a desperate drollery in being regarded as a foreigner, whereas I was simply alone among foreigners; but I knew that Cousin Egbert lacked the subtlety to grasp this point of view and made no effort to lay it before him. It was clear to me then, I think, that he would forever remain socially impossible, though perhaps no bad sort from a mere human point of view. We continued our stroll, turning presently from this residential avenue to a street of small unlighted shops, and from this into a wider and brilliantly lighted thoroughfare of larger shops, where my companion presently began to greet native acquaintances. And now once more he affected that fashion of presenting me to his friends that I had so deplored in Paris. His own greeting made, he would call out heartily: “Shake hands with my friend Colonel Ruggles!” Nor would he heed my protests at this, so that in sheer desperation I presently ceased making them, reflecting that after all we were encountering the street classes of the town. At a score of such casual meetings I was thus presented, for he seemed to know quite almost every one and at times there would be a group of natives about us on the pavement. Twice we went into “saloons,” as they rather pretentiously style their public houses, where Cousin Egbert would stand the drinks for all present, not omitting each time to present me formally to the bar-man. In all these instances I was at once asked what I thought of their town, which was at first rather embarrassing, as I was confident that any frank disclosure of my opinion, being necessarily hurried, might easily be misunderstood. I at length devised a conventional formula of praise which, although feeling a frightful fool, I delivered each time thereafter. Thus we progressed the length of their commercial centre, the incidents varying but little. “Hello, Sour-dough, you old shellback! When did you come off the trail?” “Just got in. My lands! but it’s good to be back. Billy, shake hands with my friend Colonel Ruggles.” I mean to say, the persons were not all named “Billy,” that being used only by way of illustration. Sometimes they would be called “Doc” or “Hank” or “Al” or “Chris.” Nor was my companion invariably called “shellback.” “Horned-toad” and “Stinging-lizard” were also epithets much in favour with his friends. At the end of this street we at length paused before the office, as I saw, of “The Red Gap _Recorder_; Daily and Weekly.” Cousin Egbert entered here, but came out almost at once. “Henshaw ain’t there, and she said I got to be sure and give him this here piece personally; so come on. He’s up to a lawn-feet.” “A social function, sir?” I asked. “No; just a lawn-feet up in Judge Ballard’s front yard to raise money for new uniforms for the band--that’s what the boy said in there.” “But would it not be highly improper for me to appear there, sir?” I at once objected. “I fear it’s not done, sir.”