Oh, yes; he wore a broad-brimmed hat,
gentle reader--just like those the Madison Square Post Office mail
carriers wear when they go up to Bronx Park on Sunday afternoons.
Suddenly Greenbrier Nye jumped into the drifting herd of metropolitan
cattle, seized upon a man, dragged him out of the stream and gave him
a buffet upon his collar-bone that sent him reeling against a wall.
The victim recovered his hat, with the angry look of a New Yorker who
has suffered an outrage and intends to write to the Trib. about it. But
he looked at his assailant, and knew that the blow was in consideration
of love and affection after the manner of the West, which greets its
friends with contumely and uproar and pounding fists, and receives its
enemies in decorum and order, such as the judicious placing of the
welcoming bullet demands.
"God in the mountains!" cried Greenbrier, holding fast to the foreleg of
his cull. "Can this be Longhorn Merritt?"
The other man was--oh, look on Broadway any day for the
pattern--business man--latest rolled-brim derby--good barber, business,
digestion and tailor.
"Greenbrier Nye!" he exclaimed, grasping the hand that had smitten him.
"My dear fellow! So glad to see you! How did you come to--oh, to be
sure--the inaugural ceremonies--I remember you joined the Rough Riders.
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