A gentle knock interrupted the Professor before he noticed the consternation his wandering fingers caused. The latch lifted and Dakota stepped inside, fumbling his hat, his hair oiled flat from a centre parting, and a pair of fluffy angora chaps held up by a belt several holes tighter than was his wont. He stood there, embarrassed, looking from one to another.
When the music ceased Cockney came from the bedroom. He laughed noisily when he saw Dakota.
"Come in, come in, Dakota. This is civilisation as the old H-Lazy Z never looked for it, eh? Guess you and I will have to take to our glad clothes to keep in line."
There were no introductions—that would have added to the embarrassment of the uncomfortable cowboy.
"'Dakota!'" repeated the Professor interrogatively. "Does it so happen that you come from my own country, the land of the free, where floats—but, ahem! this is not Decoration Day. I can see from the light in your eye that you understand. May I have the honour of shaking your hand?"
Dakota intruded no objections, though he grinned foolishly.
"Your parents little thought," rambled on the Professor, "that the name they gave you in the cradle would be your password the world over. With no offence to my host and hostess, and this eminently agreeable gentleman on my left, I feel that I can take you to my heart—or wherever people take their friends. I must see more of you, my countryman."
Though the flamboyancy of it was flagrant, and delivered with a twinkle, Dakota felt an inclination to expectorate, but bethought himself and coughed behind his hand.
"By the way, Mr.—ah—Dakota, now that I have you two residents together, I must take advantage of it. We have long known that the banks of the Red Deer River are replete with interest for the paleontologist. The region around the Double Bar-O was disappointing. Perhaps your acquaintance with the rocks about here will prepare me for what I will find."
"Looking for old bones, Dakota," explained Cockney, with a grin.