s. "It's not
high enough," he decided instantly. "Something else--a coat--anything."

Kiska's compatriots could not have complied had they understood, being
coatless to a man. Bernard Graves took off a new golf coat which
Shelby ruthlessly crumpled and stuffed into place. An instant later he
was astride the Pole's hips, his hands grasping the powerful chest on
either side. Bracing his elbows, Shelby bore his whole weight forward,
counted three, sat back upon his knees, counted two, and so continued,
down "one-two-three," up "one-two," with the quiet assurance of a
surgeon.

The younger man watched his every movement with wondering respect. The
operator interrupted his meditations.

"Get hold of his tongue with your handkerchief," he ordered. "That's
right--hold it by the tip. On one side--on one side. Now take both
his wrists and pin them above his head--so."

All the while the steady pressure and relaxation went on, compelling
the lungs to their function. Presently came the faintest quiver of a
nostril, and Shelby smiled.

"Kiska will do his own breathing pretty soon," he said. Presently he
suggested: "Better fetch Hilliard now. And have him 'phone Doc
Crandall to come to Kiska's house in Little Poland. I'll take Kiska
home in my rig when his bellows gets well under way."

Graves did his errand, outlining the disaster and rescue as he hurried
with the quarry owner to the scene. Joe Hilliard was divided between
sympathy for Kiska, whom he declared was the pick of his men, and
admiration for Shelby's presence of mind.

"He's got gumption, that man," he exclaimed, "gumption, simon-pure."

Graves's own impressions were mixed, and the stress of the accident
passed, he resumed his ruined coat with a vague sense of personal
slight. Something of this sort prompted him to say rather
patronizingly to Shelby as they parted:--

"You made skilful use of that method of resuscitation. Where in the
world did you pick it up?"

"Every schoolboy knows it," returned the politician, shortly; "or every
schoolboy should."

CHAPTER VIII

Shelby's forecast of the effect of the _Whig's_ exposure was
brilliantly fulfilled. People did laugh over it and say that it was a
good speech, whatever its source. In popular conception literary theft
is at worst a venial sin whose very iniquity is doubtful unless found
out. The culprit's average fellow-townsman accepted the incident as
fresh evidence of his acknowled