Then he took his place and sat with his hands folded in his lap, moveless, speechless, with the little keen eyes straight before him--three hours that state continued.

Then he got up and Anthony followed him to the diner.

They sat at the same table.
"The journey," said Anthony, "is pretty tiresome through monotonous scenery like this." The little keen eyes surveyed him a moment before the man spoke.
"There was buffalo on them plains once." If someone had said to an ignorant questioner, "This little knoll is called Bunker Hill," he could not have been more abashed than was Anthony, who glanced through the window at the dreary prospect, looked back again, and found that the sharp eyes once more looked straight ahead without the slightest light of triumph in his coup.

Silence, apparently, did not in the least abash this man.
"Know a good deal about buffaloes ?" "Yes." It was not the insulting curtness of one who wishes to be left in peace, but simply a statement of bald fact.
"Really ?" queried Anthony.

"I didn't think you were as old as that!" It appeared that this remark was worthy of no answer whatever.