V
Hector, coming into his quarters one night, found awaiting him the first of his usual visitors—Welland.
"Cold night," said Hector cordially. "Glad to see you've stoked up the stove."
"Yes," said Welland. "Look at this."
He held up Hector's ink-bottle, placed on a table outside the immediate circle of the warmth. The ink was curdling into ice.
"I told Blythe to put the bottle on the stove," Hector said. "He's forgetful. Had a good trip?"
"Fine. Went to Prospect. I'm writing home my impressions, you know—have done for some time—and I thought I'd get acquainted with that hell-hole. Hadn't really time when I last visited it. I wanted to contrast it with Discovery City, thinking it would throw the wonderful order and quiet of Black Elk into strong relief."
"And?"
"Why, it's the finest contrast I ever clapped eyes on. Fact! This place is Paradise. But no wonder. Look at your men! Why, the way that kid Gemmell held the pass—it's marvellous!"
"I'd have flayed him if he'd let 'em through," said Hector grimly. "Still, it was a good piece of work."