The coffee-room was thronged; men sat and stood about as they did in the other rooms; here and there at tables parties were at breakfast; there was also a great comparing of papers and much secret conversing in out-of-the-way corners.
No sooner had Ben and Nat entered than a merry voice called:
“Ben Cooper!”
Then a hand struck the owner of that name a most tremendous whack upon the back; and turning, Ben found himself face to face with his schoolmate from New England.
While the two were shaking hands in great delight, and laughing and greeting each other, Nat Brewster’s keen eyes were traveling over Ezra Prentiss for any distinctive qualities that would confirm his suspicions.
“The height is about the same,” he told himself, “as near as I can judge. However, the one was sitting a horse and this one is standing upon his legs. The general build is also, I think, the same, though of course I saw one in the shadow, or at best, the dim light of a candle, and now see the other in the full flood of the morning. There is a good chance that I may be mistaken in both these things. But in the laugh,” and Nat’s eyes showed how sure he was, “I cannot be mistaken. It’s the same. I could tell it anywhere and any time I heard it.”
The boy from the mountains was still deep in his reflections when Ben turned to him quickly, saying:
“Pardon me, Nat, for forgetting you. But I don’t see old friends like Ezra every day, you see.” Then addressing the latter he said: “This is my cousin, Nat Brewster—Nat, this is the friend of whom you’ve heard me talk so much about—Ezra Prentiss.”
Ezra’s eyes ran over Nat’s stalwart figure in great admiration as they shook hands.
“I say,” said he to Ben, “here’s the chap we should have had at the Academy. He could have put Bully Harvey’s shoulders upon the floor if any one could.”