“Well, have you, or haven't you?”
“I haven't—there! But it's between you and me in confidence. He thinks I have. I made a noise like breaking with him, and he deserved it, too.”
“Where do I come in, stalking-horse or fall-guy?”
“Neither. You make a pot of money, we put across the laugh on Wild Water and cheer Dawson up, and, best of all, and the reason for it all, he gets disciplined. He needs it. He's—well, the best way to put it is, he's too turbulent. Just because he's a big husky, because he owns more rich claims than he can keep count of—”
“And because he's engaged to the prettiest little woman in Alaska,” Smoke interpolated.
“Yes, and because of that, too, thank you, is no reason for him to get riotous. He broke out last night again. Sowed the floor of the M. & M. with gold-dust. All of a thousand dollars. Just opened his poke and scattered it under the feet of the dancers. You've heard of it, of course.”
“Yes; this morning. I'd like to be the sweeper in that establishment. But still I don't get you. Where do I come in?”
“Listen. He was too turbulent. I broke our engagement, and he's going around making a noise like a broken heart. Now we come to it. I like eggs.”
“They're off!” Smoke cried in despair. “Which way? Which way?”
“Wait.”