The card was that of a New York costumer.  The “stuff” was a gentleman’s costume of the days of ’76, made of white satin, with silver buckles, white silk stockings, and white kid shoes.  A powdered wig and a sword completed the dress.

“And look about, Brooks,” added Terence, a little anxiously, “for a silk handkerchief with my initials in one corner.  I must have dropped it somewhere.”

It was a month later when Mrs. Bellmore and one or two others of the smart crowd were making up a list of names for a coaching trip through the Catskills.  Mrs. Bellmore looked over the list for a final censoring.  The name of Terence Kinsolving was there.  Mrs. Bellmore ran her prohibitive pencil lightly through the name.

“Too shy!” she murmured, sweetly, in explanation.

XI

JIMMY HAYES AND MURIEL

I

Supper was over, and there had fallen upon the camp the silence that accompanies the rolling of corn-husk cigarettes.  The water hole shone from the dark earth like a patch of fallen sky.  Coyotes yelped.  Dull thumps indicated the rocking-horse movements of the hobbled ponies as they moved to fresh grass.  A half-troop of the Frontier Battalion of Texas Rangers were distributed about the fire.

A well-known sound—­the fluttering and scraping of chaparral against wooden stirrups—­came from the thick brush above the camp.  The rangers listened cautiously.  They heard a loud and cheerful voice call out reassuringly: 

“Brace up, Muriel, old girl, we’re ’most there now!  Been a long ride for ye, ain’t it, ye old antediluvian handful of animated carpet-tacks?  Hey, now, quit a tryin’ to kiss me!  Don’t hold on to my neck so tight—­this here paint hoss ain’t any too shore-footed, let me tell ye.  He’s liable to dump us both off if we don’t watch out.”

Two minutes of waiting brought a tired “paint” pony single-footing into camp.  A gangling youth of twenty lolled in the saddle.  Of the “Muriel” whom he had been addressing, nothing was to be seen.

“Hi, fellows!” shouted the rider cheerfully.  “This here’s a letter fer Lieutenant Manning.”

He dismounted, unsaddled, dropped the coils of his stake-rope, and got his hobbles from the saddle-horn.  While Lieutenant Manning, in command, was reading the letter, the newcomer, rubbed solicitously at some dried mud in the loops of the hobbles, showing a consideration for the forelegs of his mount.

“Boys,” said the lieutenant, waving his hand to the rangers, “this is Mr. James Hayes.  He’s a new member of the company.  Captain McLean sends him down from El Paso.  The boys will see that you have some supper, Hayes, as soon as you get your pony hobbled.”

The recruit was received cordially by the rangers.  Still, they observed him shrewdly and with suspended judgment.  Picking a comrade on the border is done with ten times the care and discretion with which a girl chooses a sweetheart.  On your “side-kicker’s” nerve, loyalty, aim, and coolness your own life may depend many times.