“In some withered stuff among a clump of willows; I scraped the snow off it. That is, I lay down there, but as the fire wouldn’t burn well, I don’t think I got much rest. Part of the time I wondered what I was staying in this country for. I didn’t seem to find any sensible answer.”
“You could get out of it when the freighters go down with the dogs and sledges,” Lisle suggested. “It would be a good deal more comfortable at Marple’s, for instance.”
“Do you want to get rid of me? I suppose I’m not much help.”
“Oh, no!” Lisle assured him. “It only struck me that you might find the novelty of the experience wearing off. Besides, you’re improving; in a year or two you’ll make quite a reliable prospector’s packer.”
“That’s something,” replied Crestwick, grinning. “Not long ago I thought I’d make a sportsman; one of Gladwyne’s kind. The ambition doesn’t so much appeal to me now. But I want to be rather more than a looker-on. Can’t you let me put something into one of these claims?”
“Not a cent! In the first place, you’d have some trouble in raising the money; in the second, I might be accused of playing Batley’s game.”
“The last’s ridiculous. But if I’m not to do anything, it brings me back to the question—why am I staying here?”
“I can’t tell you that. I’ll only suggest that if you hold out until you come into your property, you’ll go back much more fit in several ways to look after it. I should imagine you’d find less occasion to emulate people like Batley and Gladwyne then. Of course, I don’t know if that’s worth waiting for.”
It was the nearest approach to seriousness he considered advisable, for precept was obnoxious to him and apt to be resented by his companion.
“Now,” he added, “what about the mail?”