one of his companions. "You're drunk,
Nick--plumb drunk."

Braden listened, turning away. An advertisement of brandy hung from a
shelf on the far side of the bar. He toyed with his goblet, his eyes
fixed on the gaudy, fly-specked picture.

"I _ain't_ drunk," Matthews declared. "I _never_ been drunk. My stomick
ain't big 'nough to hold the _reequissit_ amount."

There was more laughter. The interpreter, well pleased with himself,
surveyed his audience, pointing the cigar, now up, now down, so that its
glowing end threatened to burn his shirt collar, or, tilting skyward,
all but singed what there was of a tow eyebrow.

"And that ain't the best part of the story," he went on. "As I was
sayin', not a darned pound of ice was left in Boston. Well, what d' y'
think my old man does? He rents the fastest coast-steamer he can find.
Then, he goes 'way up north in the Atlantic and lays-to with his weather
eye open. Day or two, long comes a' iceberg big as a house. And by----,
he hitches to it, and Boston gits ice!"

And now, like a ponderous bobcat descending upon its prey, Braden stole
soft-footed across the room. "Nick!" he said. His jaws came together
with the click of a steel trap.

Matthews lowered his heels. "Jumpin' buffalo!" he cried in amazement.
"Al Braden! Where'd _you_ come from?" He took the other's hand, at the
same time pulling him slowly toward the door. Away from the crowd, they
brought up.

"Well, _you're_ a nice one!" was Braden's answer. "You're a _nice_ one!
Lettin' that Bend slip through your fingers!"

All the interpreter's cocksureness was gone. He threw the cigar into
the sand-box under the stove, and looked on the verge of following it.

"Say, _you_ talk of fleecin'," taunted Braden. "Why, you been skinned
clean's a whistle! And by a' old fool duffer from Texas!"

"I was at Dodge when he come," snarled Matthews, finding his voice.

"What you go streakin' off to Dodge for, after the tip I give?"

"Well, no one here was talkin' railroad. So I, well, I----"

Braden addressed the ceiling, his fat hands outspread. "No one here was
talkin' railroad, no one here was talkin' railroad?" he mimicked.

"--So I didn't put much stock in your letter."

"You didn't, eh?" Braden searched a coat-pocket, found a newspaper
clipping and thrust it under Matthews' nose. "Well, read that."

"Read it yourself," said Matthews. "You know blamed well----"

Braden interrupted him by beginning. He lowered his voice,