fevered brain, so that while I talked I kept hearing over and over, 'After you, friend McAdoo—after you, friend McAdoo—after you'—b'r'rgh! What is more frightful than trying to do mental work in the face of a delirium?
"I am not clear as to just what McAdoo said; it was Lynch who made the opening move, and this time he did not say, 'After you, friend McAdoo!' He drew his revolver and waved McAdoo to a large lounging chair. I shall never forget that chair; it was a home made, or rather a native-made chair like those one sees to-day, with a back the angle of which is regulated by a rod behind, which is dropped into notches you know the kind. At the top there was a little pillow for the head to rest against—a little 'baby-blue' pillow—and it was hollowed in the middle where poor Cullen's head had. rested, and worn until the fabric held in a streaky sort of way that showed the white beneath. It was probably made in England by some girl parish-
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