"Oh!"
"It didn't use to matter if a man was poor and self-taught, but in these days of competition it's different. A boy must have chances if he's going to fight the battle on equal terms. Of course, some boys ain't worth botherin' about. But my boy—well, he seems to have something in him."
The priest listened silently, but with that look of brotherliness on his face that made it so easy to talk to him.
"It doesn't really matter to those other fellows." Mac jerked his hand towards the camp. "It's never so important to men—who stand alone—but I've got to strike it rich over yonder." He lifted his head, and frowned defiantly in the general direction of the Klondyke, thirteen hundred miles away. "It's my one chance," he added half to himself. "It means everything to Bob and me. Education, scientific education, costs like thunder."
"In the United States?"
"Oh, I mean to send my boy to the old country. I want Bob to be thorough."
The priest smiled, but almost imperceptibly.
"How old is he?"
"Oh, 'bout as old as this youngster." Mac spoke with calculated indifference.
"Six or thereabouts?"