When you’ve been picturing yourself a cowboy on the Western plains, a cowboy with a picturesque broad-brimmed sombrero, leather chaps, a flannel shirt and a handkerchief knotted about your neck, it is naturally a bit surprising to suddenly see just such a vision before your eyes. And that’s what happened to Perry. No sooner was the shade drawn at the opposite window than upon it appeared the silhouette of as cowboyish a cowboy as ever rode through sage-brush! Evidently the light was in the center of the room and the occupant was standing between light and window, standing so that for a brief moment his figure was thrown in sharp relief against the shade, and Perry, staring unbelievingly, saw the black shadow of a broad felt hat whose crown was dented to a pyramid shape, a face with clean-cut features and a generous mustache and, behind the neck, the knot of a handkerchief! Doubtless the flannel shirt was there, too, and, perhaps, the leather cuffs properly decorated with porcupine quills, but Perry couldn’t be sure of this, for before he had time to look below the knotted bandana the silhouette wavered, lengthened oddly and faded from sight, leaving Perry for an instant doubtful of his vision!
“Now what do you know about that?” he murmured. “A regular cowboy, by ginger! What’s he doing over there, I wonder. And here I was thinking about him! Anyway, about cowboys! Gee, that’s certainly funny! I wish I could have seen if he wore a revolver on his hip! Maybe he’ll come back.”
But he didn’t show himself again, although Perry sat on in the darkness of his little room for the better part of a half-hour, staring eagerly and fascinatedly at the lighted window across the twilight. The shade still made a yellowish oblong in the surrounding gloom of the otherwise blank wall when his mother’s voice came to him from below summoning him to supper and he left his vigil unwillingly and went downstairs.
Dr. Hull had returned and supper was waiting on the red cloth that always adorned the table on Sunday nights. Perry was so full of his strange coincidence that he hardly waited for the Doctor to finish saying grace before he told about the vision. Rather to his disappointment, neither his father nor mother showed much interest, but perhaps that was because he neglected to tell them that he had been thinking of cowboys at the time. There was no special reason why he should have told them other than that he suspected his mother of a lack of sympathy on the subject of cowboys and the Wild West.
“I guess,” said the Doctor, helping to the cold roast lamb and having quite an exciting chase along the back of the platter in pursuit of a runaway sprig of parsley, “I guess your cowboy would have looked like most anyone else if you’d had a look at him. Shadows play queer tricks, Perry.”
Dr. Hull was tall and thin, and he stooped quite perceptibly. Perhaps the stoop came from carrying his black bag about day after day, for the Doctor had never attained to the dignity of a carriage. When he had to have one he hired it from Stewart, the liveryman. He had a kindly face, but he usually looked tired and had a disconcerting habit of dropping off to sleep in the middle of a conversation or, not infrequently, half-way through a meal. Perry was not unlike his father as to features. He had the same rather short and very straight nose and the same nice mouth, but he had obtained his brown eyes from his mother. Dr. Hull’s eyes were pale blue-gray and he had a fashion of keeping them only a little more than half open, which added to his appearance of weariness. He always dressed in a suit of dark clothes which looked black without actually being black. For years he had had his suits made for him by the same unstylish little tailor who dwelt, like a spider in a hole, under the Union Restaurant on Common Street. Whether the suits, one of which was made every spring, all came off the same bolt of cloth, I can’t say, but it’s a fact that Mrs. Hull had to study long to make out which was this year’s suit and which last’s. On Sunday evenings, however, the Doctor donned a faded and dearly-loved house-jacket of black velveteen with frayed silk frogs, for on Sunday evenings he kept no consultation hours and made no calls if he could possibly help it.
In spite of Perry’s efforts, the cowboy was soon abandoned as a subject for conversation. The Doctor was satisfied that Perry had imagined the likeness and Mrs. Hull couldn’t see why a cowboy hadn’t as much right in the neighboring building as anyone. Perry’s explanations failed to convince her of the incongruity of a cowboy in Clearfield, for she replied mildly that she quite distinctly remembered having seen at least a half-dozen cowboys going along Main Street a year or two before, the time the circus was in town!
“Maybe,” chuckled the Doctor, “this cowboy got left behind then!”
Perry refused to accept the explanation, and as soon as supper was over he hurried upstairs again. But the light across the back-yard was out and he returned disappointedly to the sitting-room, convinced that the mystery would never be explained. His father had settled himself in the green rep easy chair, with his feet on a foot-rest, and was smoking his big meerschaum pipe that had a bowl shaped like a skull. The Doctor had had that pipe since his student days, and Perry suspected that, next to his mother and himself, it was the most prized of the Doctor’s possessions. The Sunday papers lay spread across his knees, but he wasn’t reading, and Perry seized on the opportunity presented to broach the matter of going in for the Track Team. There had been some difficulty in the fall in persuading his parents to consent to his participation in football, and he wasn’t sure that they would look any more kindly on other athletic endeavors. His mother was still busy in the kitchen, for he could hear the dishes rattling, and he was glad of it; it was his mother who looked with most disfavor on such things.
“Dad, I’m going to join the Track Team and try sprinting,” announced Perry carelessly.