ed an elbow on the table and pulled at his wheezy pipe. The
lamp smoked, flickered, and went out; but still he remained, filling
his pipe again and again and striking endless matches.

"Del! Are you awake?" Corliss called at last.

Del grunted.

"I was a cur to turn them out into the snow. I am ashamed."

"Sure," was the affirmation.

A long silence followed. Del knocked the ashes out and raised up.

"'Sleep?" he called.

There was no reply, and he walked to the bunk softly and pulled the
blankets over the engineer.

CHAPTER XXI

"Yes; what does it all mean?" Corliss stretched lazily, and cocked up
his feet on the table. He was not especially interested, but Colonel
Trethaway persisted in talking seriously.

"That's it! The very thing--the old and ever young demand which man
slaps into the face of the universe." The colonel searched among the
scraps in his note-book. "See," holding up a soiled slip of typed
paper, "I copied this out years ago. Listen. 'What a monstrous
spectre is this man, this disease of the agglutinated dust, lifting
alternate feet or lying drugged with slumber; killing, feeding,
growing, bringing forth small copies of himself; grown up with hair
like grass, fitted with eyes that glitter in his face; a thing to set
children screaming. Poor soul, here for so little, cast among so many
hardships, filled with desires so incommensurate and so inconsistent;
savagely surrounded, savagely descended, irremediably condemned to prey
upon his fellow-lives. Infinitely childish, often admirably valiant,
often touchingly kind; sitting down to debate of right or wrong and the
attributes of the deity; rising up to battle for an egg or die for an
idea!'

"And all to what end?" he demanded, hotly, throwing down the paper,
"this disease of the agglutinated dust?"

Corliss yawned in reply. He had been on trail all day and was yearning
for between-blankets.

"Here am I, Colonel Trethaway, modestly along in years, fairly well
preserved, a place in the community, a comfortable bank account, no
need to ever exert myself again, yet enduring life bleakly and working
ridiculously with a zest worthy of a man half my years. And to what
end? I can only eat so much, smoke so much, sleep so much, and this
tail-dump of earth men call Alaska is the worst of all possible places
in the matter of grub, tobacco, and blankets."

"But it is the living strenuously which holds you," Corliss interjected.