Through this crowd Foster Portney shoved his way, with Randy and Earl close behind him. It was some minutes before they could get to the ticket office.
"I want three tickets," said Mr. Portney. "How much freight will you carry on them?"
"Six hundred pounds, and not a pound more for anybody," was the quick reply.
"And when do you sail?"
"Wednesday, at twelve o'clock sharp. What are the names? We don't want any mix-up in this rush."
The names were put down, and the money for the passage paid over, and with their tickets in their pockets the three struggled to get out of the crowd, which was growing more dense every minute. Close at hand was a big bill-board on which was posted a large circular headed in big black letters:—
THE GOLD FIELDS OF ALASKA!
Direct Route via Juneau and Over Chilkoot Pass!
Now is the Time to Go and Stake Your Claim!
"That circular is enough to set almost any one crazy," said Earl, as he read it over. "Well, I hope we strike a bonanza."
"The reports are very encouraging," replied Foster Portney, who, in spite of his usual cool headedness had the gold fever nearly as badly as any one in San Francisco. "You see," he went on, "the sooner we get there the better: for we won't have much time left after arriving before the long and terribly cold winter sets in."
Earl had imagined that the six hundred pounds of freight must be divided between the three, but soon learned that six hundred pounds was the limit for each person.