except for his first two rounds of drinks.

He had had his spree. He still had all his check money. And he
had a flask of whisky. True, he had been roughly handled. And he
had had a ducking in the lake. But those were his sole
liabilities. They were insignificant by comparison to his assets.

He grinned in smug self-gratulation. Then his eye fell on Chum,
standing ten feet away, looking uncertainly at him.

Chum! To Chum he owed it all! He owed the dog his money, perhaps
his very life. Yes--as he rehearsed the struggle to get out of
the lake--he owed the collie his life as well as his victory over
the holdup men. To Chum!

A great wave of love and gratitude surged up in Ferris. He had a
sloppily idiotic yearning to throw his arms about the dog's furry
neck and kiss him. But he steadied himself and chirped to the
collie to come nearer. Slowly, with queer reluctance, Chum
obeyed.

"Listen," mumbled Link incoherently, "I saved you from dying from
a bust leg and hunger the night I fust met you, Chummie. An'
tonight you squared the bill by saving me from drownin'. But I'm
still a whole lot in your debt, friend. I owe you for all the
cash in my pocket an'--an' for a pint of the Stuff that Killed
Father--an'--an' maybe for a beatin' that might of killed me.
Chum, I guess God did a real day's work when He built you.
I--I--Let it go at that. Only I ain't forgettin'. Nor yet I ain't
li'ble to forget. Come on home. I'm a-gittin' the chatters!"