Patches, this is Professor Parkhill." "Phil," murmured Kitty, "how can you ?" The Professor was gazing at Patches as though fascinated.

And Patches, his weather-beaten face as grave as the face of a wooden Indian, stared back at the Professor with a blank, open-mouthed and wild-eyed expression of rustic wonder that convulsed Phil and made Kitty turn away to hide a smile.
"Howdy! Proud to meet up with you, mister," drawled the typical specimen of the genus cowboy.

And then, as though suddenly remembering his manners, he leaped to the ground and strode awkwardly forward, one hand outstretched in greeting, the other holding fast to Stranger's bridle rein, while the horse danced and plunged about with reckless indifference to the polite intentions of his master.
The Professor backed fearfully away from the dangerous looking horse and the equally formidable-appearing cowboy.

Whereat Patches addressed Stranger with a roar of savage wrath.
"Whoa! You consarned, square-headed, stiff-legged, squint-eyed, lop-eared, four-flusher, you.

Whoa, I tell you! Cain't you see I'm a-wantin' to shake hands with this here man what the boss has interduced me to ?" Phil nearly choked.