spoils.

"You might throw in several other little souvenirs to boot and not miss
them," suggested Elliot with a smile.

Macdonald nodded indifferently. "I gave and I took, which was as it
should be. But it's different with you, Mr. Elliot. This wasn't your
row."

"I hadn't been in a good mix-up since I left college. It did me a lot of
good."

"Much obliged, anyhow." He turned his attention to a lady entering the
dining-room. "'Mornin', Mrs. Selfridge. How's Wally?"

She threw up her hands in despair. "He's on his second bottle of
liniment already. I expect those ruffians have ruined his singing voice.
It's a mercy they didn't murder both him and you, Mr. Macdonald. When I
think of how close you both came to death last night--"

"I don't know about Wally, but I had no notion of dying, Mrs. Selfridge.
They mussed us up a bit. That was all."

"But they _meant_ to kill you, the cowards. And they almost did it too.
Look at Wally--confined to his bed and speaking in a whisper. Look at
you--a wreck, horribly beaten up, almost drowned. We must drive the
villains out of the country or send them to prison."

Mrs. Selfridge always talked in superlatives. She had an enthusiasm
for the dramatics of conversation. Her supple hands, her shrill, eager
voice, the snapping black eyes, all had the effect of startling
headlines to the story she might be telling.

"Am I a wreck?" the big Scotchman wanted to know. "I feel as husky as a
well-fed malamute."

"Oh, you _talk_. But we all know you--how brave and strong you are.
That's why this outrage ought to be punished. What would Alaska do if
anything happened to you?"

"I hadn't thought of that," admitted Macdonald. "The North would have to
go out of business, I suppose. But you're right about one thing, Mrs.
Selfridge. I'm brave and strong enough at the breakfast table. Steward,
will you bring me a double order of these shirred eggs--and a small
steak?"

"Well, I'm glad you can still joke, Mr. Macdonald, after such a terrible
experience. All I can say is that I hope Wally isn't permanently
injured. He hasn't your fine constitution, and one never can tell about
internal injuries." Mrs. Selfridge sighed and passed to her place.

The eyes of the big man twinkled. "Our little fracas has been a godsend
to Mrs. Selfridge. Wally and I will both emerge as heroes of a desperate
struggle. You won't even get a mention. But it's a pity about Wally's
injuries--and his singing voice."