The victim followed tamely to the lower part of the building, where Corrie threw open a furnace-door and installed him in the red glow of heat.
"Take off your clothes," he commanded. "Trying to get pneumonia, are you, so I will feel like a brute? Oh, I'll give you something to wear; I've got a lot of old duds in my locker here. What are you laughing at, Allan Gerard?"
"The responsible man's burden. Never mind me, go on with your rescue."
"I should like to throw something at you."
"Haven't you got enough on your hands?"
The raillery struck some note in the man's pride. He looked from Gerard to Corrie, who was bringing an armful of assorted clothing, with a reawakening defiance not so much evil as primitive.
"You couldn't have put it over me so easy," he announced sombrely, "if I'd had the feed I bet you got this morning."
The garments escaped Corrie's grasp.
"Feed? You're hungry?"