He was corpulent and rosy, and though his countenance, which was ornamented with a beautiful flaxen beard, carefully divided in the middle and brushed outward at the sides, was not remarkable for intensity of expression, he looked like a person who would willingly shake hands with any one.
I know not what Newman thought of his face, but he found a want of response in his grasp.
"Oh, come, come," he said, laughing; "don't say, now, you don't know me--if I have NOT got a white parasol!" The sound of his voice quickened the other's memory, his face expanded to its fullest capacity, and he also broke into a laugh.

"Why, Newman--I'll be blowed! Where in the world--I declare--who would have thought?
You know you have changed." "You haven't!" said Newman.
"Not for the better, no doubt.

When did you get here ?" "Three days ago." "Why didn't you let me know ?" "I had no idea YOU were here." "I have been here these six years." "It must be eight or nine since we met." "Something of that sort.

We were very young." "It was in St.Louis, during the war.

You were in the army." "Oh no, not I! But you were." "I believe I was." "You came out all right ?" "I came out with my legs and arms--and with satisfaction.