“Speakin’ of laws goes to show me that this here country is gettin’ too blamed civilized for a white man,” said Simms, pessimistically, “and now that this fight is ended up it don’t look like there would be anything doin’ fit to claim the interest of a growed-up person for a long while. I’m goin’ west.”
“West! Why, you can throw a stone into Bering Strait from here,” said Roy, smiling.
“Oh, well, the world’s round. There’s a schooner outfittin’ for Sibeery—two years’ cruise. Me an’ Dex is figgerin’ on gettin’ out towards the frontier fer a spell.”
“Sure!” said Dextry. “I’m beginnin’ to feel all cramped up hereabouts owin’ to these fillymonarch orchestras an’ French restarawnts and such discrepancies of scenery. They’re puttin’ a pavement on Front Street and there’s a shoe-shinin’ parlor opened up. Why, I’d like to get where I could stretch an’ holler without disturbin’ the pensiveness of some dude in a dress suit. Better come along, Roy; we can sell out the Midas.”
“I’ll think it over,” said the young man.
The night was bright with a full moon when they left the doctor’s office. Roy, in no mood for the exuberance of his companions, parted from them, but had not gone far before he met Cherry Malotte. His head was low and he did not see her till she spoke.
“Well, boy, so it’s over at last!”
Her words chimed so perfectly with his thoughts that he replied: “Yes, it’s all over, little girl.”
“You don’t need my congratulations—you know me too well for that. How does it feel to be a winner?”
“I don’t know. I’ve lost.”