Half of the Excursion had taken the circuit through the Park in the opposite direction, and now that all were united once more, many were the handshakings, and loud and eager the exchange of experiences.
“Did you take dinner at Larry’s?”
“I almost tumbled into the ‘Morning Glory’”—
“Oh! what a funny hotel that was at the Upper Basin—walls of pasteboard between the rooms, and all peeling off, you know”—
“Weren’t you awfully cold?”
“How many trout did you catch, Doctor?”
“My! wasn’t Mary’s Hill steep? We got out and walked. The horses just went up hand over hand, as if ’twas a ladder”—
“Did you see a bear?” This last from Tom, who became the center of a knot of eager questioners, and assumed airs of importance accordingly.
The attractions of the Mammoth Springs, marvelous though they were, were rather slighted by the tourists, who were sated with “formations” and boiling pools. That afternoon the train bore them over the branch road to Livingston, where fine furs were purchased by several parties, this little frontier town being a regular emporium for such articles.
At nightfall they had a jolly supper in the car, and afterward made their Pullman ring with “The Soldier’s Farewell” and—well—“A. R.!”