"Well, now, to think of a little feller like you a-bein' all that! But jest what be them there esteticks what you're professor of--if you don't mind my askin' ?" The distinguished scholar answered promptly, in his best platform voice, "The science or doctrine of the nature of beauty and of judgments of tastes." At this, Stranger, with a snort of fear, stood straight up on his hind legs, and Professor Parkhill scuttled to a position of safety behind Phil.
"Excuse me, folks," said Patches.

"I'm just naturally obliged to 'tend to this here thing what thinks he's a hoss.

Come along, you ornery, pigeon-toed, knock-kneed, sway-backed, wooly-haired excuse, you.

You ain't got no more manners 'n a measly coyote." The famous professor of aesthetics stood with Phil and Kitty watching Patches as that gentleman relieved the dancing bay of the saddle, and led him away through the corrals to the gate leading into the meadow pasture.
"I beg pardon," murmured the visitor in his thin, little voice, "but what did I understand you to say is the fellow's name ?" "Patches; Honorable Patches," answered Phil.
"How strange! how extraordinarily strange! I should be very interested to know something of his ancestry, and, if possible, to trace the origin of such a peculiar name." Phil replied with exaggerated concern.

"For heaven's sake, sir, don't say anything about the man's name in his hearing." "He--he is dangerous, you mean ?" "He is, if he thinks anyone is making light of his name.