"Are there, really?" Phillips' eyes brightened. "You're an old-timer; you've been 'inside.' Do you mean there's plenty of gold for all of us?"
"Dere ain't 'nuff gold in all de worl' for some people."
"I mean is Dawson as rich as they say it is?"
"Um—m! I don' know."
"Didn't you get in on the strike?"
"I hear 'bout 'im, but I'm t'inkin' 'bout oder t'ings."
Phillips regarded the speaker curiously. "That's funny. What business are you in?"
"My bizness? Jus' livin'." The Canadian's eyes twinkled. "You don' savvy, eh—? Wal, dat's biccause you're lak dese oder feller—you're in beeg hurry to be reech. Me—?" He shrugged his brawny shoulders and smiled cheerily. "I got plenty tam. I'm loafer. I enjoy myse'f—"
"So do I. For that matter, I'm enjoying myself now. I think this is all perfectly corking, and I'm having the time of my young life. Why, just think, over there"—Pierce waved his hand toward the northward panorama of white peaks and purple valleys—"everything is unknown!" His face lit up with some restless desire which the Frenchman appeared to understand, for he nodded seriously. "Sometimes it scares me a little."
"Wat you scare' 'bout, you?"