"Well!" it said, unctuous with appreciation of the sight of him. "Old Doctor Duncan!"
He let the pestle fall from his hand and jumped as if he had been stuck with a pin. His jaw dropped and his eyes bulged. "Great Scott!" he cried; and in a twinkling was round the counter, throwing himself into the arms of a man whom he hailed ecstatically: "Harry, by all that's wonderful!" He fairly danced with delight. "Henry Kellogg, Esquire!" he cried, holding him at arms' length and looking him over. "What in thunderation are you doing here?"
Kellogg freed himself, only to seize both Nat's hands and squeeze them violently. "Wanted to see you," he replied, beaming. "On my way to Cincinnati on business—thought I'd drop off for a night and size you up. My, but it's good to get a look at you! How are you?"
"Me? Look at me—picture of health. Harry, you've made a new man of me." Duncan pranced round his friend in a mild frenzy. "No booze—no smokes—no swears—work! I feel like a two-year-old: I could do a Marathon without turning a hair. Watch me kick up my heels and neigh!" He paused for breath. "And you?"
"Fine as silk—but you've got it on me, Nat, physically. You're a sight to heal the blind."
"And listen!" Nat crowed: "I'm a business man. Didn't you believe it? Pipe my shop!"
Kellogg checked to obey the admonition of Duncan's gesticulations, and took a long look round the store. "Gad!" said he. "I'm blowed if it isn't true! It was hard to credit your letters. But it's great, old man. I congratulate you, with all my heart."
"Just wait and I'll tell you all about it. But first tell me how long you're going to be here."
"Well, I plan to hang around with you a couple of days. My business in the West isn't pressing."
"Good!"