"Come in!" he bawled. "An' don't make such a row about it! Look at
that"--to Corliss, at the same time facing his hand--"fifteen-eight,
fifteen-sixteen, and eight are twenty-four. Just my luck!"
Corliss started swiftly to his feet. Bishop jerked his head about.
Two women and a man had staggered clumsily in through the door, and
were standing just inside, momentarily blinded by the light.
"By all the Prophets! Cornell!" The pocket-miner wrung the man's hand
and led him forward. "You recollect Cornell, Corliss? Jake Cornell,
Thirty-Seven and a Half Eldorado."
"How could I forget?" the engineer acknowledged warmly, shaking his
hand. "That was a miserable night you put us up last fall, about as
miserable as the moose-steak was good that you gave us for breakfast."
Jake Cornell, hirsute and cadaverous of aspect, nodded his head with
emphasis and deposited a corpulent demijohn on the table. Again he
nodded his head, and glared wildly about him. The stove caught his eye
and he strode over to it, lifted a lid, and spat out a mouthful of
amber-colored juice. Another stride and he was back.
"'Course I recollect the night," he rumbled, the ice clattering from
his hairy jaws. "And I'm danged glad to see you, that's a fact." He
seemed suddenly to remember himself, and added a little sheepishly,
"The fact is, we're all danged glad to see you, ain't we, girls?" He
twisted his head about and nodded his companions up.
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