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wanted the work to begin at once and to continue with all possible speed.

This last Le Blanc told us the next day when he returned in madame’s motor, bringing with him an old friend of his—a tall, sunburned, grizzly bearded man of fifty, with overhanging eyebrows shading piercing brown eyes, firm, well-buttressed nose, a mouth like a ruled line—so straight was it—and a jaw which used up one-third of his face. When they entered Herbert was standing with his back to the room. An instant later the stranger had him firmly by the hand.

“I heard you were here, Herbert,” he cried joyously, “but could hardly believe it. By Jove! It’s good to see you again! When was the last time, old man?—Borneo, wasn’t it?—in that old shack outside the town, and those devils howling for all they were worth.”

Introductions over, he dropped into a chair, took a pipe from his pocket, and in a few minutes was as much a part of the coterie as if we had known him all his life: his credentials of accomplishment, of pluck, of self-sacrifice, of endurance and skill were accepted at sight; the hearty welcome he gave Herbert, and the way his eyes shone with the joy of meeting