His
words were a telescope to the city men, whose eyes had looked upon
Youngstown, O., and whose tongues had called it "West."
In fact, Emerson had them "going."
The next morning at ten he met Vuyning, by appointment, at a
Forty-second Street cafe.
Emerson was to leave for the West that day. He wore a suit of dark
cheviot that looked to have been draped upon him by an ancient
Grecian tailor who was a few thousand years ahead of the styles.
"Mr. Vuyning," said he, with the clear, ingenuous smile of the
successful "crook," "it's up to me to go the limit for you any time I
can do so. You're the real thing; and if I can ever return the favor,
you bet your life I'll do it."
"What was that cow-puncher's name?" asked Vuyning, "who used to catch
a mustang by the nose and mane, and throw him till he put the bridle
on?"
"Bates," said Emerson.
"Thanks," said Vuyning. "I thought it was Yates. Oh, about that
toggery business--I'd forgotten that."
"I've been looking for some guy to put me on the right track for
years," said Emerson. "You're the goods, duty free, and half-way to
the warehouse in a red wagon."
"Bacon, toasted on a green willow switch over red coals, ought to put
broiled lobsters out of business," said Vuyning. "And you say a horse
at the end of a thirty-foot rope can't pull a ten-inch stake out of
wet prairie? Well, good-bye, old man, if you must be off."
At one o'clock Vuyning had luncheon with Miss Allison by previous
arrangement.
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