Harding's the most ripping sport, you know! Not the least nervous
about the trip, I assure you."

"I was," I announced, moved to defiance by the neighborhood of Mr.
Shaw. "Before we started I was so afraid that if you had listened
you might have heard my teeth chattering. But I had at least the
comforting thought that if I did go to my end it would not be
simply in pursuit of sordid gain!"

"And indeed that was almost a waste of noble sentiment under the
circumstances," answered the dour Scot, with the fleeting shadow of
an enraging smile. "Such disappointingly calm weather as it is!
See that Miss Harding has some coffee, Bert."

I promised myself, as I went with Mr. Vane toward the fire, that
some day I would find the weapon that would penetrate the
Scotchman's armor--and would use it mercilessly.

Cookie, in his white attire, and with his black shining face and
ivory teeth gleaming in the ruddy firelight, looked like a
converted cannibal--perhaps won from his errors by one of Mr.
Vane's missionary Johnnies. He received us with unctuous warmth.

"Well, now, 'clar to goodness if it ain't the li'le lady! How come
you git ashore all dry lak you is? Yes, sah, Cookie'll git you-all
some'n hot immejusly." He wafted me with stately gestures to a
seat on an overturned iron kettle, and served my coffee with an air
appropriate to mahogany and plate. It was something to see him
wait on Cuthbert Vane. As Cookie told me later, in the course of
our rapidly developing friendship, "dat young gemmun am sure one ob