“Bob—” Jim sat right up. “You—are you alive?—”
“And how!” Bob chuckled cheerfully. “Now I know what you’ve been raving about, old man—”
“Then it was a trick of Cardow’s or Gordon’s?”
“No—but it was a trick. We’ll tell you all about it as soon as you are stronger.”
“I’m strong as an ox, but gosh, I’m empty as a tank.”
“That is a detail which shall be attended to pronto,” Ynilea spoke up, and it was. A tray, prepared with the greatest care, was brought in, and Austin was mighty glad to see it. His hand trembled a bit, but Bob helped him and by the time the meal was finished he felt like a new man.
“Now, tell me about that—why Bob, the fellow said they dropped you on a pile of hay and you were burned to a cinder. Now, what did happen?”
“The report of my demise, as the late Mr. Clemens put it so neatly, was greatly exaggerated, although I do not mind telling you, my esteemed brother, that my supposed bier was an imposing spectacle; quite remarkable and most enjoyable—that is as a spectator. As the principal character in the drama it might not have been quite such a treat.”
“Well, for the love o’mike, tell me about it, and don’t drag it out till doomsday,” Jim urged.
“Delighted. You might be donning your pants while you listen, that is, if you feel equal to doing two things at once—”