"Hear that, Schiff?" he roared at his bandaged friend. "Never say die! This gen'l'man's been at it twelve years—tried more 'n one camp, but now—well, he's so well fixed he don't care a cuss about the Klondyke."
Schiff lit up and pulled hard at the cutty.
O'Flynn had taken Kaviak to the fire, and was showing him how to roast half a petaty in wood ashes; but he was listening to the story and putting in "Be the Siven!" at appropriate moments.
Schiff poured out a cloud of rank smoke.
"Gen'lemen," he said, "the best Klondyke claims'll be potted. Minóok's the camp o' the future. You'd better come along with us."
"Got no dogs," sighed the Boy; but the two strangers looked hard at the man who hadn't that excuse.
Benham sat and idly watched preparations for the next course.
"Say, a nabob like you might give us a tip. How did you do the trick?"
"Well, I'd been playing your game for three years, and no galley slave ever worked half as hard—"
"That's it! work like the devil for a couple o' years and then live like a lord for ever after."