possibilities of the Klondyke.

"Oh, I'm comin' back soon's I get a grub-stake."

"I ain't," said another with a dazed expression--a Klondyker carrying
home his frying-pan, the one thing, apparently, saved out of the wreck.

"You think you ain't comin' back? Just wait! Once you've lived up here,
the Outside ain't good enough fur yer."

"Right!" said an old Forty-miler, "you can try it; but Lord! how you'll
miss this goll-darn Yukon."

Among the hundreds running about, talking, bustling, hauling
heterogeneous luggage, sending last letters, doing last deals, a score
of women either going by this boat or saying good-bye to those who
were; and Potts, the O'Flynns, and Mac waiting to hand over Kaviak to
Sister Winifred.

The Boy at the open window above, staring down on the tatterdemalion
throng, remembered his first meeting with the Big Chimney men as the
Washington City steamed out of San Francisco's Golden Gate a year and a
month before.

Of course, even in default of finding millions, something stirring
might have happened, something heroic, rewarding to the spirit, if no
other how; but (his own special revelation blurred, swamped for the
moment in the common wreck) he said to himself that nothing of the sort
had befallen the Big Chimney men any more than to the whipped and
bankrupt crew struggling down there on the wharf. They simply had
failed--all alike. And yet there was between them and the common
failures of the world one abiding difference: these had greatly dared.
As long as the meanest in that crowd drew breath and held to memory, so
long might he remember the brave and terrible days of the Klondyke
Rush, and that he had borne in it his heavy share. No share in any mine
save that--the knowledge that he was not among the vast majority who
sit dully to the end beside what things they were born to--the earnings
of other men, the savings of other women, afraid to go seeking after
better lest they lose the good they have. They had failed, but it could
never be said of a Klondyker that he had not tried. He might, in truth,
look down upon the smug majority that smiles at unusual endeavour,
unless success excuses, crowns it. No one there, after all, so poor but
he had one possession treasured among kings. And he had risked it. What
could a man do more?

"Good-bye, Muckluck."

"Goo'-bye? Boat Canada way no go till Thursday."

"Thursday, yes," he said absently, eyes still on the American ship.

"Then why y