“I don’t know what the regular trip is,” answered Phil. “I am going as far as Sitka.”
“Oh yes, just to the edge of Alaska, and then you’ll come away thinking that you know it all, like the rest of the tourists. If you’d studied the country as I have, you’d realize that Alaska is a mighty big place, and that you must spend months and thousands of dollars in travelling over it before you know much about it.”
“Have you done that?” asked Phil, simply.
“Well, no, not exactly; but I’m expecting to in the near future—that is,” he added, with a slight air of confusion, “I have particular reasons for wishing to take the trip, and if things work out all right I hope to be able to do it. By-the-way, I suppose you’ve laid in your supply of hardware?”
“Hardware?” repeated Phil, in a puzzled tone.
“Yes; wet goods, you know. Montreal’s the very best place for providing the stock.”
“I can’t imagine what you mean.”
Again a slight sneer flitted across Mr. Simon Goldollar’s face as he explained that “hardware” and “wet goods” were but polite terms for liquor, with a flask of which every “travelling gent” should provide himself before going aboard a train.
“I don’t see why liquor should be more necessary on board a train than anywhere else,” said Phil.