"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
