And then Monty was treated to an exposition of the city’s commercial importance that bored him vastly, even if it impressed him, which, for Leon’s sake, I hope it did. And then it became Monty’s turn, and he sang the glories of Wyoming, and of his beloved mountains, and sang them so eloquently that Leon’s dark eyes warmed, and he made up his mind that he would visit that wonderful Jackson Lake country, and go hunting for elk and see the sunset on the snowy tip of Two-Horn Peak and snowshoe down Halfway Pass, and sit around the bunk-house fire with “Snub” Thompson and “Pin Head” Farrel, and the other engaging characters of Monty’s narrative! And then, Alvin Standart intruded his unpleasing presence, and introductions ensued, and Leon went his way. Monty accompanied him to the sidewalk, and promised to look him up the next morning. And at the last, as they were saying good-night, Monty put his hand out or Leon put his out—Monty never could remember which of them had made the first move—and they shook hands! Which is a most unusual thing for two healthy, normal boys to do, and which, remembered afterwards, brought something very like a blush to Monty’s tanned cheeks.
“Who’s your friend?” inquired Alvin Standart when Monty returned to the room.
“His name’s Desmarais,” answered Monty. “A new fellow. He’s in upper middle.”
“Southerner, isn’t he?”
“Yes, from New Orleans.”
“Thought so. You can generally tell by the way they talk. Sort of drawl their words, don’t they?”
“Do they? Can’t say I ever noticed it, Standart.”
“Sure, they do. They talk funny.” Considering that Standart himself talked through his nose, and flattened every vowel it was possible to flatten, it didn’t seem to Monty that criticism of Leon’s speech came well from him. But he only smiled. “You didn’t go to the reception, did you?” continued his roommate.
“What reception’s that?” inquired Monty.
“Why, Doctor Duncan’s. Didn’t you know about it?”