omatic, but Johnston's hint of fairness went further, and in
spite of the frail beauty's smiles, a number of those who listened waved
the tray aside with the words "I pass!"

Then, when some one called out to ask what was the matter with the circus,
and whether the clown were lost, while others demanded "The lady!"
Johnston turned to Miss Marvin, and there was a hush as the slight girlish
figure--and she seemed very young--stood upright before us. She thrust
back the unlovely bonnet, and her thin face was flushed; but when,
clenching nervous fingers upon the dowdy gown, she raised a high clear
voice, every man in the assembly settled himself to listen. Perhaps it was
a chivalrous respect for her womanhood, or mere admiration for personal
courage, and she had most gallantly taken up the challenge; but I think
she also spoke with force and sincerity, for my own pulse quickened in
time to the rapid utterance. Then changing from the somewhat conventional
tirade, she leaned forward speaking very gently, and one could hear the
men breathe in the stillness, while, as far as I can remember, the plain
words ran:

"It's not only for you I'm pleading; there are the women, too--the
sweethearts, wives and daughters waiting at home for you. Just where and
how are they waiting? Shall I tell you? 'Way back up yonder tending the
cattle in the lonely ranch, where the timber wolves howl along ranges on
the moonlight nights; and I guess you know it's lonely up there in the
bush. Then I can see others sewing with heavy eyes and backs that are
aching in a Vancouver shack. You had no money to leave them, and they had
to do the best they could. Have they no use for the money you would spend
in liquor here--the women who never cried out when they let you go? Don't
heart-break and black, black solitude count anything with you? You're
building railroads, building up a great Dominion, but the waiting women
are doing their part, too. And I'm thinking of others still, gilt-edged
and dainty, 'way in the old country. I've seen a few. Where's the man from
an English college that used to feel himself better after they talked to
him? Is he here with the fire of bad whisky in him, betting against the
banker to win a smile from Jess of Caribou?"

This woman knew how to stir them, and there was an expressive murmur,
while some fidgeted. Then the proprietor beckoned across the room, and
Hemlock Jim spoke:

"This is only high-tone sentiment. Most of us are