He proved to be a fascinating person; handsome, affable, a ready talker upon all matters of interest—­though sarcastic, withal—­and fond of boys.  True, he had not long hair like the little boy’s father.  Indeed, he had not much hair at all, except a sort of curtain of black curls extending from ear to ear at the back of his bare, pink head.  But the little boy had to admit that Cousin Bill J.’s moustache was even grander than his father’s.  It fell in two graceful festoons far below his chin, with a little eyelet curled into each tip, and, like the ringlets, it showed the blue-black lustre of the crow’s wing.  In the full sunlight, at times, it became almost a royal purple.

Later observation taught the little boy that this splendid hue was applied at intervals by Cousin Bill J. himself.  He did it daintily with a small brush, every time the moustache began to show a bit rusty at the roots; Bernal never failed to be present at this ceremony; nor to resolve that his own moustache, when it came, should be as scrupulously cared for—­not left, like Dr. Crealock’s, for example, to become speckled and gray.

Cousin Bill J.’s garments were as splendid as his character.  He had an overcoat and cap made from a buffalo hide; his high-heeled boots had maroon tops set with purple crescents; his watch-charm was a large gold horse in full gallop; his cravat was an extensive area of scarlet satin in the midst of which was caught a precious stone as large as a robin’s egg; and in smoking, which his physician had prescribed, he used a superb meerschaum cigar-holder, all tinted a golden brown, upon which lightly perched a carven angel dressed like those that ride the big white horse in the circus.

But aside from these mere matters of form, Cousin Bill J. was a man with a history.  Some years before he had sprained his back, since which time he had been unable to perform hard labour; but prior to that mishap he had been a perfect specimen of physical manhood—­one whose prowess had been the marvel of an extensive territory.  He had split and laid up his three hundred and fifty rails many a day, when strong men beside him had blushingly to stop with three hundred or thereabouts; he had also cradled his four acres of grain in a day, and he could break the wildest horse ever known.  Even the great Budd Doble, whom he personally knew, had said more than once, and in the presence of unimpeachable witnesses, that in some ways he, Budd Doble, knew less about a horse than Cousin Bill J. did.  The little boy was wrought to enthusiasm by this tribute, resolving always to remember to say “hoss” for horse; and, though he had not heard of Budd Doble before, the name was magnetic for him.  After you said it over several times he thought it made you feel as if you had a cold in your head.