"Gone to supper."
"Well, she sprung you, didn't she? Some gal! I knew you was all right, but them boys was certainly roily."
Pierce addressed the fellow frankly: "I'm obliged to you for taking my part. I hardly expected it."
"Why not? I got nothing against you. I got a sort of tenderness for guys like you—I hate to see 'em destroyed." Mr. Broad grinned widely and his former victim responded in like manner.
"I don't blame you," said the latter. "I was an awful knot-head, but you taught me a lesson."
"Pshaw!" The confidence-man shrugged his shoulders carelessly. "The best of 'em fall for the shells. I was up against it and had to get some rough money, but—it's a hard way to make a living. These pilgrims squawk so loud it isn't safe—you'd think their coin was soldered onto 'em. That's why I'm here. I understand her Grace is hiring men to go to Dawson."
"Yes."
"Well, take a flash at me." Mr. Broad stiffened his back, arched his chest, and revolved slowly upon his heels. "Pretty nifty, eh? What kind of men does she want?"
"Packers, boatmen—principally boatmen—fellows who can run white water."
The new applicant was undoubtedly in a happy and confident mood, for he rolled his eyes upward, exclaiming, devoutly: "I'm a gift from heaven! Born in a batteau and cradled on the waves—that's me!"