liceman O’Roon. Look at your face—no; you can’t do that without a glass—but look at mine, and think of yours. How much alike are we? As two French table d’hote dinners. With your badge, on your horse, in your uniform, will I charm nurse-maids and prevent the grass from growing under people’s feet in the Park this day. I will save your badge and your honor, besides having the jolliest lark I’ve been blessed with since we licked Spain.
Promptly on time the counterfeit presentment of Mounted Policeman O’Roon single-footed into the Park on his chestnut steed. In a uniform two men who are unlike will look alike; two who somewhat resemble each other in feature and figure will appear as twin brothers. So Remsen trotted down the bridle paths, enjoying himself hugely, so few real pleasures do ten-millionaires have.
Along the driveway in the early morning spun a victoria drawn by a pair of fiery bays. There was something foreign about the affair, for the Park is rarely used in the morning except by unimportant people who love to be healthy, poor and wise. In the vehicle sat an old gentleman with snowy side-whiskers and a Scotch plaid cap which could not be worn while driving except by a personage. At his side sat the lady of Remsen’s heart—the lady who looked like pomegranate blossoms and the gibbous moon.
Remsen met them coming. At the instant of their
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