Lawlor rose and extended a broad hand and an even broader
smile; he was proud of the strength which had suddenly returned to his
legs.
"H'ware ye, stranger? Sure glad to see you."
The other accepted the proffered hand automatically, like one moving in
a dream.
"Are you Drew?"
"Sure am."
"William Drew?"
He still held the hand as if he were fearful of the vision escaping
without that sensible bondage.
"William Drew is right. Sit down. Make yourself to home."
"Thanks!" breathed the other and as if that breath expelled with it all
his strength he slumped into a chair and sat with a fascinated eye glued
to his host.
Lawlor had time to mark now the signs of long and severe travelling
which the other bore, streaks of mud that disfigured him from heel to
shoulder; and his face was somewhat drawn like a man who has gone to
work fasting.
"William Drew!" he repeated, more to himself than to Lawlor, and the
latter formed a silent prayer of gratitude that he was _not_ William
Drew.
"I'm forgetting myself," went on the tenderfoot, with a ghost of a
smile.
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