ointed him out, and the great figure of a man shot
through the gate, shouting, and hurried toward him.

A tremendous creature he was, with red face and black hair which seemed
to scramble in all directions at once, and with a mustache which
appeared to scamper in even more directions than his hair. Fairchild
was a large man; suddenly he felt himself puny and inconsequential as
the mastodonic thing before him swooped forward, spread wide the big
arms and then caught him tight in them, causing the breath to puff over
his lips like the exhaust of a bellows.

A release, then Fairchild felt himself lifted and set down again. He
pulled hard at his breath.

"What's the matter with you?" he exclaimed testily. "You 've made a
mistake!"

"I 'm blimed if I 'ave!" bellowed a tornado-like voice. "Blime! You
look just like 'im!"

"But you 're mistaken, old man!"

Fairchild was vaguely aware that the spray-like mustache was working
like a dust-broom, that snappy blue eyes were beaming upon him, that
the big red nose was growing redder, while a tremendous paw had seized
his own hand and was doing its best to crush it.

"Blimed if I 'ave!" came again. "You're your Dad's own boy! You look
just like 'im! Don't you know me?"

He stepped back then and stood grinning, his long, heavily muscled arms
hanging low at his sides, his mustache trying vainly to stick out in
more directions than ever. Fairchild rubbed a hand across his eyes.

"You 've got me!" came at last. "I--"

"You don't know me? 'Onest now, don't you? I 'm Arry! Don't you know
now? 'Arry from Cornwall!"

CHAPTER VII

It came to Fairchild then,--the sentence in his father's letter
regarding some one who would hurry to his aid when he needed him, the
references of Beamish, and the allusion of Mother Howard to a faithful
friend. He forgot the pain as the tremendous Cornishman banged him on
the back, he forgot the surprise of it all; he only knew that he was
laughing and welcoming a big man old enough in age to be his father,
yet young enough in spirit to want to come back and finish a fight he
had seen begun, and strong enough in physique to stand it. Again the
heavy voice boomed:

"You know me now, eh?"

"You bet! You 're Harry Harkins!"

"'Arkins it is! I came just as soon as I got the cablegram!"

"The cablegram?"

"Yeh." Harry pawed at his wonderful mustache. "From Mr. Beamish, you
know. 'E sent it. Said you 'd started out 'ere