"Crossed the Chilcoot in June, '85."
"What! twelve year ago?"
Benham nodded.
"Gosh! then you've been in the Klondyke?"
"Not since the gold was found."
"And got a team like that 'n outside, and not even goin' to Minóok?"
"Guess not!"
What made the feller so damn satisfied? Only one explanation was possible: he'd found a mine without going even as far as Minóok. He was a man to keep your eye on.
A goodly aroma of steaming oysters and of grilling moose arose in the air. The Boy set up the amended bill of fare, lit the Christmas candles—one at the top, one at the bottom of the board—and the Colonel announced the first course, though it wasn't one o'clock, and they usually dined at four.
The soup was too absorbingly delicious to admit of conversation. The moose-steaks had vanished like the "snaw-wreath in the thaw" before anything much was said, save: