He shaved,
donned clean linen and an old dressing-gown, and from his closet brought
forth a pair of old tan riding-boots, still in an excellent state of
repair. From his army-kit he produced a boot-brush and a can of tan
polish, and fell to work, finding in the accustomed task some slight
surcease from his troubles.
His boots polished to his satisfaction, he selected from the stock of old
civilian clothing a respectable riding-suit of English whip-cord,
inspected it carefully for spots, and, finding none, donned it. A clean
starched chambray shirt, set off by a black-silk Windsor tie, completed
his attire, with the exception of a soft, wide, flat-brimmed gray-beaver
hat, and stamped him as that which he had once been but was no longer--a
California rancher of taste and means somewhat beyond the average.
It was twenty-five minutes past eight when he concluded his leisurely
toilet; so he stepped out of his room, passed round two sides of the
porched patio, and entered the dining-room. The long dining-table, hewed
by hand from fir logs by the first of the Noriagas, had its rough defects
of manufacture mercifully hidden by a snow-white cloth, and he noted with
satisfaction that places had been set for five persons. He hung his hat
on a wall-peg and waited with his glance on the door.
Promptly at eight-thirty, Carolina, smiling, happy, resplendent in a
clean starched calico dress of variegated colors, stepped outside the
door and rang vigorously a dinner-bell that had called three generations
of Noriagas and an equal number of generations of Farrels to their meals.
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