Bull drew out Father Adam's letter and waited while the other tore it open. Bat glanced at the contents and jumped to the signature. Then he thrust out a gnarled and powerful hand.
"Shake," he cried. And there could be no doubting his good will. "Glad to have you around, Mr. Bull Sternford."
* * * * *
Bull Sternford was seated in the luxurious chair that had once known Leslie Standing. His pea-jacket was removed and his cap was gone. The room was warm, and the sun beyond the window was radiant. Beyond the desk Bat was seated, where his wandering gaze could drift to the one object of which it never tired. He was at the window which looked out upon the mill below.
He was reading Father Adam's letter. Sternford was silently regarding his squat figure. He was waiting and wondering, speculating as to the hard-faced, uncultured creature who had built up all the amazing details that made up an industrial city in a territory that was outlawed by Nature.
Bat thrust the letter away and looked up.
"Father Adam didn't write that letter for you? He just handed it out to you to bring along?"
"That's how," Bull nodded.
"Sure." Bat's tone became reflective. "He must have wrote that letter years, and held it against the time he located you. He's queer."
Bull laughed.