"Well," said French, "since you put it that way we'll go, and I am sure it is very decent of you."
"Not at all. The favour will be to me. My name is Brown."
"And mine is French, Jack French throughout this country, as perhaps you have heard."
"I have been here only a few days, and have heard very little," said Brown.
"And this," continued French, "is Kalman Kalmar, a friend of mine from Winnipeg, and more remotely from Russia, but now a good Canadian."
Brown gave each a strong cordial grasp of his hand.
"You can't think," he said, "how glad I am to see you."
"Is there a trail?" asked French.
"Yes, a trail of a sort. Follow the winding of the river and you will come to my camp at the next bend. You can't miss it. I'll go up in the canoe and come down to meet you."
"Don't trouble," said French; "we know our way about this country."
Following a faint trail for a quarter of a mile through the bluffs, they came upon an open space on the river bank similar to the one they had left, in the midst of which stood Brown's tent. That tent was a wonder to behold, not only to Kalman, but also to French, who had a large experience in tents of various kinds. Ten by twelve, and with a four-foot wall, every inch was in use. The ground which made the floor was covered with fresh, sweet-smelling swamp hay; in one corner was a bed, neat as a soldier's; in the opposite corner a series of cupboards made out of packing cases, filled, one with books, one with drugs and surgical instruments, another with provisions. Hanging from the ridge-pole was a double shelf, and attached to the back upright were a series of pigeon-hole receptacles. It was a wonder of convenience and comfort, and albeit it was so packed with various impedimenta, such was the orderly neatness of it that there seemed to be abundance of room.
At the edge of the clearing Brown met them.
"Here you are," he cried. "Come along and make yourselves at home."
His every movement was full of brisk energy, and his voice carried with it a note of cheery frankness that bespoke the simplicity and kindliness of the good and honest heart.
In a few moments Brown had a fire blazing in front of the tent, for the night air was chill, and a heavy dew was falling.
"Here you are," he cried, throwing down a couple of rugs before the fire. "Make yourselves comfortable. I believe in comfort myself."
"Well," said French, glancing into the tent, throwing himself down before the fire, "you apparently do, and you have attained an unqualified success in exemplifying your belief. You certainly do yourself well."
"Oh, I am a lazy dog," said Brown cheerfully, "and can't do without my comforts. But you don't know how glad I am to see you. I can't stand being alone. I get most awfully blue and funky, naturally nervous and timid, you know."
"You do, eh?" said French, pleasantly. "Well, if you ask me, I believe you're lying, or your face is."
"Not a bit, not a bit. Good thing a fellow has a skin to draw over his insides. I'd hate the world to see all the funk that there is in my heart."
French pulled out his pipe, stirred up its contents with his knife, struck a match, and proceeded to draw what comfort he could from the remnants of his last smoke. The result was evidently not entirely satisfactory. He began searching his pockets with elaborate care, but all in vain, and with a sigh of disappointment he sank back on the rug.
"Hello!" said Brown, whose eyes nothing seemed to escape, "I know what you're after. You have left your pouch. Well, let that be a lesson to you. You ought not to indulge habits that are liable any moment to involve you in such distress. Now look at you, a big, healthy, able-bodied man, on a night like this too, with all the splendour and glory of sky and woods and river about you, with decent company too, and a good fire, and yet you are incapable of enjoyment. You are an abnormality, and you have made yourself so.
You need treatment. I am going to administer it forthwith."
He disappeared into his tent, leaving Kalman in a fury of rage, and French with an amused smile upon his face. After a few moments' rummaging Brown appeared with a package in his hand.
"In cases like yours," he said gravely, "I prescribe vapores nicotinenses. I hope you have forgotten your Latin. Here is a brand, a very special brand, which I keep for decoy purposes.
Having once used this, you will be sure to come back again. Try that," he cried in a threatening tone, "and look me in the eye."
The anger fled from Kalman's face, and he began to understand that their new friend had been simply jollying them, and he sincerely hoped that neither he nor French had noticed his recent rage.
French filled his pipe with the mixture, lit it, and took one or two experimental draws, then with a great sigh he threw himself back upon the rug, his arms under his head, and puffed away with every symptom of delight.
"See here, Brown," he said, sitting up again after a few moments of blissful silence, "this is 'Old London,' isn't it?"
"See here, French, don't you get off any of your high British nonsense. 'Old London,' indeed! No, sir, that is 'Young Canada'; that is, I have a friend in Cuba who sends me the Prince of Wales brand."
French smoked on for some moments.
"Without being rude, how much of this have you in stock?"
"How much? Enough to fill your pipe whenever you come round."
"My word!" exclaimed French. "You don't dispense this to the general public, do you?"
"Not much, I don't," said Brown. "I select my patients."
"Thank you," said French. "I take this as a mark of extreme hospitality. By the way, where is your own pipe?"
"I have abjured."
"What."
"Abjured."
"And yet you have many of the marks of sanity."
"Sanity! You just note it, and the most striking is that I don't have a pipe."
"Expound me the riddle, please."
"The exposition is simple enough. I am constitutionally lazy and self-indulgent, and almost destitute of self-control--"
"And permit me to interject without offence, an awful liar," said French pleasantly. "Go on."
"I came out here to work. With a pipe and a few pounds of that mixture--"
