Now, this worthy knew Swiftwater to be immensely wealthy and a very good customer, so when the Eldorado miner demanded the right to buy every egg in the house, which meant every egg in town, the restaurant man stroked his chin and said:
“Swiftwater, those eggs cost me a big lot of money, and there hain’t no more. You can have the hull outfit for three dollars an egg, in dust.”
There was just one whole crate left, and Swiftwater weighed out $2,280 in gold dust.
“Those eggs are mine—keep them here and don’t let anybody have any.”
Now, Swiftwater and Gussie had been in the habit of breakfasting on fresh eggs some days before, when the first infrequent trader of the season had managed, after enduring several wrecks on the upper river, to reach Dawson. Fresh eggs were to Gussie what chocolates and bon bons are to the average girl in the States.
The next morning Swiftwater arrived at the restaurant for breakfast, a little earlier than usual, and in a few minutes the waiter placed before him a steaming hot platter containing an even dozen of the eggs, nicely poached and served on small strips of toast.
Just then Gussie came in for her breakfast and seated herself at the other end of the little dining room. It was long after the usual hour for breakfast, and they were the only two in the room. Without doing Swiftwater the honor of passing so much as a glance in his direction, Gussie said to the waiter:
“Bring me a full order of fried eggs.”
“We ain’t got no eggs, mum; they was all sold out last night,” said the waiter.