Key-Hole.
The departing train leaves, besides myself, the gentleman with the eyeglasses and slim umbrella. After dinner, while I solace myself with the briar-root, this gentleman sits a little way off on the veranda puffing a cigar. There is another, an obese party, walking up and down; he is not to be mistaken; his boots are shiny, so are his coat and trousers, and his felt hat gives token of grease and dust about the band. His shirt bosom discloses a compromise between cheviot and wool, and he wears an immense gold nugget for a breast-pin. He possesses the air of one with prospects and bestows an occasional glance of inquiry upon the gentleman with the umbrella. He catches the latter's eye, and halts, almost imperceptibly, feels encouraged, nods and approaches; then with an expression of boundless hospitality pervading his entire person, bursts forth:
"A stranger in Colorado?"
The gentleman with the eyeglasses pauses in the middle of a puff, looks up staringly, and the next moment relapses into his wonted contentment, while the native takes a seat.
"Ya-a-s."
"The grandest country in the world; scenery unsurpassed, and the climate superb; the air—there's nothing like the vivifying air—do you notice the air?"
"Notice—ah—notice the aha?"
The stranger dropped his eyeglass, replaced it suddenly and stared a further inquiry at his interrogator.
"Exactly—the lightness of it—its purity—the ozone, as it were——"