They walked down, and Harry led Bill to the house where Missoo was lying in bed. He was much better, but was not able to go about, though he chafed at the notion of Big Missouri being laid up with "a burnt spot on his back."
"I was gettin' lonesome, Gent," he said. "Who's yer friend?" and he eyed Bill over carefully.
"Did you ever hear me speak of Bill Green?" asked Harry.
Missoo lifted himself up on his elbow and looked at Bill.
"Not Bill Green, thet got ye outen thet burnin' mill?" he questioned, to Bill's extravagant delight to think that the great, the famous Missoo had actually kept his name in his memory.
"The very same Bill Green," assured Harry.
"Bill, shake!" said Missoo, briefly. And when he had shaken the hand of the delighted Bill, he held it for a moment, and said to him, "Bill, when ye saved the life o' thet thar Gent, ye saved my life, too, which is wuthless, an' ye saved the lives o' twenty men, some o' them with babbies, 'n some o' them with mothers. Shet up, Gent; I'm talkin'! Ye saved the life, Bill, of a feller what's sand—emery sand, which is the best kind—what's sand down to his toes. Bill, I'm proud to take ye by the hand; 'n I bet ye've got sand yerself."
"So he has, Missoo, as you'll understand, when I tell you his story some day," replied Harry.
"Why not now?" asked Missoo.
Harry made a sign to Bill, and answered: