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HE cool, gurgling sound of water slapping smartly and rhythmically against some obstruction directly beneath him, a briny, pungent tang in the stirless air, the feeling of an intolerable weight and intense cold upon his head and of rough blankets beneath his hands,—these were the first sensations which assailed Odell's returning consciousness.

He opened his eyes but closed them again quickly as a heavy step approached and a rough voice sounded in his ears.

"Still dead to the world?"

"Sure." A second voice with the unmistakable accent of the lower East Side replied to the first. "Yer don't t'ink dat rap I give him was any slap on de wrist, do yer? He's good for anoder day's sleep anyhow."

"What's the idea of the ice-bag?"

"Dunno. De main guy ordered it, an' dat lets me out. 'Fraid his little pet got more dan was comin' ter him an' was gonna croak, I guess. I could 'a told him different, but yer know how it is wid dese kid-glove guys; dey ain't takin' no chances on goin' up fer de long route. Yer boid's all right, ain't he? I heard him cussin' when yer took out de gag ter give him der eats."

Odell's heart gave a sudden leap. If he had a companion 166