"Yes; well, when the time came for me to go into the Lord business I had just forty-two dollars and sixty cents to set up on."
"What had you done with the rest?"
"I'd spent the five thousand dollars my father left me, and I'd cleaned up just forty-two dollars sixty cents in my three years' mining."
The announcement fell chill on the company.
"I was dead broke and I had no credit. I went home."
"But"—Mac roused himself—"you didn't stay—"
"No, you don't stay—as a rule;"—Mac remembered Caribou—"get used to this kind o' thing, and miss it. Miss it so you—"
"You came back," says Salmon P., impatient of generalities.
"And won this time," whispered Schiff.
For that is how every story must end. The popular taste in fiction is universal.