"Isn't that goat Osterman coming down here to-night ?" "You telephoned him, didn't you, Presley ?" inquired Magnus.
Presley had taken Princess Nathalie upon his knee stroking her long, sleek hair, and the cat, stupefied with beatitude, had closed her eyes to two fine lines, clawing softly at the corduroy of Presley's trousers with alternate paws.
"Yes, sir," returned Presley.

"He said he would be here." And as he spoke, young Osterman arrived.
He was a young fellow, but singularly inclined to baldness.

His ears, very red and large, stuck out at right angles from either side of his head, and his mouth, too, was large--a great horizontal slit beneath his nose.

His cheeks were of a brownish red, the cheek bones a little salient.

His face was that of a comic actor, a singer of songs, a man never at a loss for an answer, continually striving to make a laugh.
But he took no great interest in ranching and left the management of his land to his superintendents and foremen, he, himself, living in Bonneville.