As for the man, his eyes had calmly smiled his spoken greeting.  His handshake had been conventionally firm.  But behind the mask of it all was one great surge of feeling.  The vision of a beautiful, fur-coated figure, with the peeping lure of pretty ankles, the warm cap pressed low on the girl’s head as though endeavouring to hide up the radiant framing of the sweetest, most beautiful face he felt he had ever seen, dealt all his preconceived purpose for the interview one final, smashing blow.

“I’m real glad to welcome you to Sachigo,” he had begun.  Then in a moment, the conventional gave place to the man in him.  “But say,” he added with a pleasant laugh, “we’ve a big piece of talk to make.  You best let me help you remove that coat.  The stove we always need to keep going here on Labrador makes this shanty hot as—­very hot.”

The manner of it sent convention, caution, business pose, scattering to the winds.  The girl laughed and yielded.

“Why, thanks,” she said readily.  “I’m glad you reckon we’re to make a big talk.  You see,” she added slyly, “I’ve been looking out of the window, and there’s quite a drop below.  Up to now I felt my fur might—­be useful.”

Bull laughed as he laid the coat aside.  He had drawn up a comfortable lounging chair which Nancy was prompt to accept.  For himself he stood at the window.

“Why, yes.”  He smiled.  “I’d say it’s a wise general who looks to his retreat before the encounter.  I’d sort of half forgotten you come from the—­Skandinavia.”

“But I hadn’t.”

“No.”

They both laughed.  Nancy leant back in her chair.  Her pose was all unconscious.  She had toiled hard to keep pace with the sturdy gait of Bat in the ascent from the quay.  Now she was glad of the ease the chair afforded.

“Why did you say that?” Nancy asked a moment later.

Bull spread out his great hands.

“The Skandinavia don’t usually let folks forget they’re behind them.”

“Now that’s just too bad.  It—­it isn’t generous,” the girl said half seriously.

“Isn’t it?”

Bull left the window and took the chair that was usually Bat’s.  He set it so that he could feast his eyes on the beauty he found so irresistible.

“You see,” he went on, “I’ve got a right to say that all the same.  It’s not the—­the challenge of a—­what’ll I say—­competitor?  I once had the honour of drawing a few bucks a month on the paysheets of the Skandinavia.  And folks reckoned, and I guess I was amongst ’em, that Skandinavia said to its people:  ‘Make good or—­beat it.’  That being so it makes it a sure thing they’re not liable to leave you forgetting who’s behind you.”

His smile had gone.  He was simply serious.  This man had worked for her people, and Nancy felt he was entitled to his opinion.