"Yes, you did—saved my life, by the great horn spoon, just as the knife-claws of that big grizzly were raised to rip out what passes with me for a heart. I'll never forget it as long as I live."
Stainton wished it forgotten.
"How's the world treating you?" he asked.
"So, so; I mean, badly. In fact, it's not treating me at all; I have to pay for myself, and just enough to pay and none to save, at that. But you—you! Oh, you lucky beast, you!" He shook Stainton by the shoulders and again studied his smiling face. "Good old Jim!" he said.
Stainton's smile went somewhat awry.
"Old?" he echoed. "Oh, I don't know."
"What? No, of course not." Holt thrust a playful thumb between Stainton's ribs. "Young as ever, eh? So am I. Still, you know, time does pass. Oh, well, what of it? I certainly am glad to see you."
He hooked his arm into Stainton's. "Come on and have a drink."
"Thank you, no," said Stainton; "I scarcely ever take anything, you know."