“Some girl, eh?”
As he stood there in the darkness, hearing that music in his heart, a voice broke in, swearing hard and deep oaths. It was the M. O.
“Hello, doc, my boy; come here,” cried Barry.
The M. O. approached. He was in a state of rage that rendered coherent speech impossible.
“Oh, quit it, doc. Let me show you something.”
He led him into the ruin, where his spoils were cached.
“Biscuits, my boy, and coffee. Hold on! Listen! I'm going to get a fire going here and in twenty minutes there'll be six cans of fragrant delicious coffee, boiling hot.”
“Why, how the—”
“Doc, don't talk! Listen to me! You round up your sick men, and bring them quietly over here. I don't know how many I can supply, but at least, I think, a hundred.”
“Why, how the devil—?”