remonstrant. Mother, he said, was poorly, and greatly
put out over my escapade. He pointed out that I was in a fair way of
being a rolling stone, and hoped that I would at once give up my mad
notion of the South Seas and soberly proceed to the Northwest.

Mother's letter was reproachful, in parts almost distressful. She was
failing, she said, and she begged me to be a good son, give up my
wanderings and join my cousin at once. Also she enclosed post-office
orders for forty pounds. Her letter, written in a fine faltering hand
and so full of gentle affection, brought the tears to my eyes; so that
it was very bleakly I leaned against the ship's rail and watched the
bustle of departure. Poor Mother! Dear old Garry! With what tender
longing I thought of those two in far-away Glengyle, the Scotch mist
silvering the heather and the wind blowing caller from the sea. Oh, for
the clean, keen breath of it! Yet alas, every day was the memory
fading, and every day was I fitting more snugly into the new life.

"I've just heard from the folks," I said, "and I feel like going back on
you."

"Oh, beat it," he cried; "you can't renig now. You've got to see the
thing through. Mothers are all like that when you cut loose from their
apron-strings. Ma's scared stiff about me, thinks the devil's got an
option on my future sure. They get wised up pretty soon. What you want
to do is to get busy and make yourself acquainted. Here I've been
snooping round for the last two hours, and got a line on nearly every
one on board. Say! Of all the locoed outfits this here aggregation has
got everything else skinned to a hard-boiled finish. Most of them are
indoor men, ink-slingers and calico snippers; haven't done a day's hard
work in their lives, and don't know a pick from a mattock. They've got a
notion they've just got to get up there and pick big nuggets out of the
water like cherries out of a cocktail. It's the limit."

"Tell me about them," I said.

"Well, see that young fellow standing near us?"

I looked. He was slim, with gentle, refined features and an unnaturally
fresh complexion.

"That fellow was a pen-pusher in a mazuma emporium--I mean a bank clerk.
Pinklove's his name. He wanted to get hitched to some girl, but the
directors wouldn't stand for it. Now he's chucked his job and staked his
savings on this trip. There's his girl in the crowd."

Bedded in that mosaic of human faces I saw one that was all sweetness,
yet shamelessly tear