FORGET THAT I LOVED YOU
refuse Colonel Thorp the information he is entitled to from us."
"Sir!" exclaimed Mr. St. Clair, "this is outrageous, and I demand an apology or your resignation!"
"Colonel Thorp," announced a clerk, opening the door.
"Tell Colonel Thorp I cannot—ah, Colonel Thorp, I am glad to see you. Will you step this way?" opening the door leading to his own office.
The colonel, a tall, raw-boned, typical "Uncle Sam," even to the chin whisker and quid of tobacco, had an eye like an eagle. He shot a keen glance at Mr. St. Clair and then at Ranald.
"Yes," he said, helping himself to a chair, "this here's all right. This is your manager, eh?"
"Mr. Macdonald," said Mr. St. Clair, introducing him.
"How do you do? Heard about you some," said the colonel, shaking hands with him. "Quite a knocker, I believe. Well, you rather look like it. Used to do some myself. Been up north, so the boss says. Good country, eh?"
"Fine sporting country, Colonel," interrupted St. Clair. "The game, Mr. Macdonald says, come right into your tent and bed to be shot."
"Do, eh?" The colonel's eagle eye lighted up. "Now, what sort of game?"
"Almost every kind, Colonel," replied Ranald.
"Don't say! Used to do a little myself. Moose?"
"Yes, I saw a number of moose and any amount of other deer and, of course, plenty of bear."
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