ed the versatile Lake for
its parent, had no sooner been served than there came a loud knock at
the door.

'Oh! Ah! Won't you come in, Mr. Bentham?' said Parker, who had stepped
to see who the newcomer might be.

'Is my wife here?' gruffly responded that worthy.

'Why, yes. We left word with Mr. Meyers.' Parker was exerting his most
dulcet tones, inwardly wondering what the deuce it all meant. 'Won't
you come in? Expecting you at any moment, we reserved a place. And just
in time for the first course, too.' 'Come in, Edwin, dear,' chirped
Grace Bentham from her seat at the table.

Parker naturally stood aside.

'I want my wife,' reiterated Bentham hoarsely, the intonation savoring
disagreeably of ownership.

Parker gasped, was within an ace of driving his fist into the face of
his boorish visitor, but held himself awkwardly in check. Everybody
rose. Lake lost his head and caught himself on the verge of saying,
'Must you go?' Then began the farrago of leave-taking. 'So nice of
you--' 'I am awfully sorry' 'By Jove! how things did brighten--'
'Really now, you--'

'Thank you ever so much--' 'Nice trip to Dawson--' etc., etc.

In this wise the lamb was helped into her jacket and led to the
slaughter. Then the door slammed, and they gazed woefully upon the
deserted table.

'Damn!' Langham had suffered disadvantages in his early training, and
his oaths were weak and monotonous. 'Damn!' he repeated, vaguely
conscious of the incompleteness and vainly struggling for a more virile
term. It is a clever woman who can fill out the many weak places in an
inefficient man, by her own indomitability, re-enforce his vacillating
nature, infuse her ambitious soul into his, and spur him on to great
achievements. And it is indeed a very clever and tactful woman who can
do all this, and do it so subtly that the man receives all the credit
and believes in his inmost heart that everything is due to him and him
alone.

This is what Grace Bentham proceeded to do. Arriving in Dawson with a
few pounds of flour and several letters of introduction, she at once
applied herself to the task of pushing her big baby to the fore. It was
she who melted the stony heart and wrung credit from the rude barbarian
who presided over the destiny of the P. C. Company; yet it was Edwin
Bentham to whom the concession was ostensibly granted. It was she who
dragged her baby up and down creeks, over benches and divides, and on a
dozen wild stampedes; yet ever