"Blood and sweat! Blood and sweat!" Colonel Trethaway exulted. "Talk
about putting the vim into one! Why, I'm twenty years younger if I'm a
day! Corliss, your hand. I congratulate you, I do, I heartily do.
Candidly, I didn't think it was in you. You're a surprise, sir, a
surprise!"
"And a surprise to myself," Corliss answered. The reaction had set in,
and he was feeling sick and faint. "And you, also, are a surprise.
The way you handled that stool--"
"Yes, now! I flatter myself I did fairly well with it. Did you
see--well, look at that!" He held up the weapon in question, still
tightly clutched, and joined in the laugh against himself.
"Whom have I to thank, gentlemen?"
They had come to a pause at the corner, and the man they had rescued
was holding out his hand.
"My name is St. Vincent," he went on, "and--"
"What name?" Del Bishop queried with sudden interest.
"St. Vincent, Gregory St. Vincent--"
Bishop's fist shot out, and Gregory St. Vincent pitched heavily into
the snow. The colonel instinctively raised the stool, then helped
Corliss to hold the pocket-miner back.
"Are you crazy, man?" Vance demanded.
"The skunk! I wish I'd hit 'm harder!" was the response. Then, "Oh,
that's all right. Let go o' me. I won't hit 'm again. Let go o' me,
I'm goin' home. Good-night."
As they helped St.
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