rrow he'll start off up the creek, teetering and swearing he's
had a dooce of a good time. He's the easiest thing on earth."

The Youth paused to look on a new singer. She was a soubrette, trim,
dainty and confident. She wore a blond wig, and her eyes in their pits
of black were alluringly bright. Paint was lavished on her face in
violent dabs of rose and white, and the inevitable gold teeth gleamed in
her smile. She wore a black dress trimmed with sequins, stockings of
black, a black velvet band around her slim neck. She was greeted with
much applause, and she began to sing in a fairly sweet voice.

"That's Nellie Lestrange," said the Youth. "She's a great
rustler--Touch-the-button-Nell, they call her. They say that when she
gets a jay into a box it's all day with him. She's such a nifty
wine-winner the end of her thumb's calloused pressing the button for
fresh bottles."

Touch-the-button-Nell was singing a comic ditty of a convivial order.
She put into it much vivacity, appealing to the audience to join in the
chorus with a pleading, "Now all together, boys." She had tripping steps
and dainty kicks that went well with the melody. When she went off half
a dozen men rose in their places, and aimed nuggets at her. She captured
them, then, with a final saucy flounce of her skirt, made her smiling
exit.

"By Gosh!" said the Youth, "I wonder these fellows haven't got more
savvy. You wouldn't catch _me_ chucking away an ounce on one of those
fairies. No, sir! Nothing doing! I've got a five-thousand-dollar poke in
the bank, and to-morrow I'll be on my way outside with a draft for every
cent of it. A certain little farm 'way back in Vermont looks pretty good
to me, and a little girl that don't know the use of face powder, bless
her. She's waiting for me."

The excitement of the liquor had died away in me, and what with the heat
and smoke of the place, I was becoming very drowsy. I was almost dozing
off to sleep when some one touched me on the arm. It was a negro waiter
I had seen dodging in and out of the boxes, and known as the Black
Prince.

"Dey's a lady up'n de box wants to speak with yuh, sah," he said
politely.

"Who is it?" I asked in surprise.

"Miss Labelle, sah, Miss Birdie Labelle."

I started. Who in the Klondike had not heard of Birdie Labelle, the
eldest of the three sisters, who married Stillwater Willie? A thought
flashed through me that she could tell me something of Berna.

"All right," I said; "