He became aware that "Fingerless" Fraser was making the introductions.
"This is Mr. Emerson; my name is French. I'm one of the Virginia
Frenches, you know; perhaps you have heard of them. No? Well, they're
the real thing."
The girl bowed, but Emerson forestalled her acknowledgment by breaking in roughly, with a threatening scowl at the adventurer:
"His name isn't French at all, Madam; it's Fraser—'Fingerless' Fraser. He's an utterly worthless rogue, and absolutely unreliable so far as I can learn. I picked him up on the ice in Norton Sound, with a marshal at his heels."
"That marshal wasn't after me," stoutly denied Fraser, quite unabashed.
"Why, he's a friend of mine—we're regular chums—everybody knows that.
He wanted to give me some papers to take outside, that's all."
Boyd shrugged his shoulders indifferently:
"Warrants!"
"Not at all! Not at all!" airily.
Their hostess, greatly amused at this remarkable turn of the ceremony, prevented any further argument by saying:
"Well, French or Fraser, whichever it is, you are both welcome. However, I should prefer to think of you as a runaway rather than as an intimate friend of the marshal at Nome; I happen to know him."
"Well, we ain't what you'd exactly call pals," Fraser hastily disclaimed. "I just sort of bow to him"—he gave an imitation of a slight, indifferent headshake—"that way!"