When she had gone he put on his hat and went into the streets. He had set his mind on a “jag” of the worst description—to drink and forget. He entered a saloon and mixed with the noisy throng. He commenced to lavish drinks on all and sundry, flinging notes around as though they were dirt; but the drink tasted like poison. The whole attempt ended in utter failure. Only a beast could get drunk while the memory of such a woman hung in his brain. 308
He wandered back to the hotel, sick at heart and hating the fast-approaching morrow with its heartache.... He had found gold, but he had lost—lost completely in the larger battle. He made no attempt to undress, but sat on his bed and groaned.
When the dawn came he made himself presentable and knocked at Angela’s door. He found her clad for the journey, and several bags ready for transit. He thought, too, she seemed delighted at the prospects—delighted when his heart was breaking!
“I’ll take these things,” he said, and picked up the bags.
They made their way to the jetty off which the Topeka lay, with a gangway connecting. It was near the time of departure, and nearly all the passengers were aboard. A crowd of men stood on the shore, passing remarks to those who were leaving. Here and there a wet eye was in evidence, as some unfortunate devil saw his wife and child bound for the outer world—and himself left to the tender mercies of the Klondyke.
Jim walked over the gangway and put down the luggage. When he turned to Angela he saw 309 no sign of regret. She seemed as calm and collected as she had been when first he met her.
“So this is the end of the great adventure,” she said, smiling.
“Yep.”
“And you—what do you intend doing?”
Jim gulped.