"How much money have you got?" I asked.
He pulled a poor piece of silver from his pocket.
"Enough to do me till I join the pick-and-shovel gang."
"What are those tickets in your hand?"
He laughed carelessly.
"Chances in the ice pools. Funny thing, I don't remember buying them. Must have been drunk."
"Yes, and you seem to have had a 'hunch.' You've got the same time on all three: seven seconds, seven minutes past one, on the ninth—that's to-day. It's noon now. That old ice will have to hurry up if you're going to win. Fancy, if you did! You'd clean up over three thousand dollars. There would be your new start."
"Yes, fancy," he echoed mockingly. "Over five thousand betting, and the guesses as close as peas in a pod."
"Well, the ice may go out any moment. It's awful rotten."
With a curious fascination, we gazed down at the mighty river. Around us was a glow of spring sunshine, above us the renaissance of blue skies. Rags of snow still glimmered on the hills, and the brown earth, as if ashamed of its nakedness, was bursting greenly forth. On the slope overlooking the Klondike, girls in white dresses were gathering the wild crocus. All was warmth, colour, awakening life.