“Yank your darned train out. There’s a cinder half-way through my back,” growled Jim.
Shouts were heard and the train began to move. It seemed an eternity before the last coach passed over them. By that time the cinder had grown cold. Jim kneeled up and gasped. He caught the other man in his arms and climbed on to the platform. The crowd rushed forward to shake him by the hand. He could have kissed any woman there without asking, but it never occurred to him. His one idea was to get away 36 from this hand-shaking crowd. He made for the waiting-room, still carrying his man.
“For Gawd’s sake keep that crush out,” he begged of the station-master. The latter carried out this difficult task with ultimate success. When he came back the immaculate one had recovered his senses. He was still suffering from shock, but he found enough strength to wedge a monocle into his eye and to survey Jim, wonderingly.
“Great Scott—what a feat!” he exclaimed.
Jim was rubbing his injured back.
“My deah fellah, it was positively superhuman! You saved my life—what!”
“Oh, that’s all right.”
“Bai Jove, I should think so! It was positively and indubitably the most courageous thing I have ever seen or read of.”
His cultured lisping speech and his well-bred air interested Jim. Here was one of the upper ten thousand, the real flower of British aristocracy. Jim’s eyes traveled over him, noting the cut of his clothes and his general air of careless lassitude. It had taken ten generations to produce that finished article, and the man from 37 the “Wilds” wondered what was the real nature of the animal. Physically he was a degenerate. His hands were long and tapered, and his limbs were exceeding small. But he possessed grace of movement. Jim felt a sneaking admiration for the hundred-and-one little tricks of movement that characterized the Immaculate One. But was it only veneer? Were these polished externals without inward counterpart? In the meantime the Immaculate One had taken stock of his saviour. He found much to admire in this amazing giant, with swells of muscle outlined behind the cloth that covered it. No man of his set could have done what this man had done. Sensitiveness, Culture, seemed to negate spontaneity of action. Reason had usurped the throne of Will. Colorado Jim only reasoned in his immature fashion. He acted without reason, on the impulse of the moment. Impulse had its advantages. Had he stopped to reason, the Immaculate One would have soon been the object of a Coroner’s jury. Jim found the slim white hand extended towards him. He shook it.