Before they had been long in the dining-room Macdonald came in carrying
a sheaf of business papers. He glanced around, recognized Elliot, and
made instantly for the seat across the table from him. On his face and
head were many marks of the recent battle.
"Trade you a cauliflower ear for a pair of black eyes, Mr. Elliot," he
laughed as he shook hands with the man whose name he had just learned
from the purser.
The grip of his brown, muscular hand was strong. It was in character
with the steady, cool eyes set deep beneath the jutting forehead, with
the confident carriage of the deep, broad shoulders. He looked a dynamic
American, who trod the way of the forceful and fought for his share of
the spoils.
"You might throw in several other little souvenirs to boot and not miss
them," suggested Elliot with a smile.
Macdonald nodded indifferently. "I gave and I took, which was as it
should be. But it's different with you, Mr. Elliot. This wasn't your
row."
"I hadn't been in a good mix-up since I left college. It did me a lot of
good."
"Much obliged, anyhow." He turned his attention to a lady entering the
dining-room. "'Mornin', Mrs. Selfridge. How's Wally?"
She threw up her hands in despair.
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