he had a
flask of whisky. True, he had been roughly handled. And he had had a
ducking in the lake. But those were his sole liabilities. They were
insignificant by comparison to his assets.

He grinned in smug self-gratulation. Then his eye fell on Chum,
standing ten feet away, looking uncertainly at him.

Chum! To Chum he owed it all! He owed the dog his money, perhaps his
very life. Yes--as he rehearsed the struggle to get out of the lake--he
owed the collie his life as well as his victory over the holdup men. To
Chum!

A great wave of love and gratitude surged up in Ferris. He had a
sloppily idiotic yearning to throw his arms about the dog's furry neck
and kiss him. But he steadied himself and chirped to the collie to
come nearer. Slowly, with queer reluctance, Chum obeyed.

"Listen," mumbled Link incoherently, "I saved you from dying from a
bust leg and hunger the night I fust met you, Chummie. An' tonight you
squared the bill by saving me from drownin'. But I'm still a whole lot
in your debt, friend. I owe you for all the cash in my pocket an'--an'
for a pint of the Stuff that Killed Father--an'--an' maybe for a
beatin' that might of killed me. Chum, I guess God did a real day's
work when He built you. I--I--Let it go at that. Only I ain't
forgettin'. Nor yet I ain't li'ble to forget. Come on home. I'm
a-gittin' the chatters!"

He had been stroking the oddly unresponsive dog's head as he spoke.
Now, for the first time, Link realized that the night was cool, that
his drenched clothes were like ice on him, and that the cold and the
shock reaction were giving him a sharp congestive chill. Walking fast
to restore circulation to his numbed body he made off for his distant
farmhouse, Chum pattering along at his heels.

The rapid walk set him into a glow. But by the time he had reached home
and had stripped off his wet clothes and swathed himself in a rough
blanket, his racked nerves reasserted themselves. He craved a drink--a
number of drinks--to restore his wonted poise. Lighting the kitchen
lamp, he set the whisky bottle on the table and put a thick tumbler
alongside it. Chum was lying at his master's feet. In front of Ferris
was a pint of good cheer. The lamplight made the kitchen bright and
cozy. Link felt a sense of utter well-being pervade him.

This was home--this was the real thing. Three successive and man-size
drinks of whisky presently made it seem more and more the real thing.
They made all things s