feet and retreated a step; his look of relief was
replaced by one of dark suspicion. As always, in moments of extremity,
he began to laugh.

"Who are you?" he demanded.

"I? Why, I live here. That's my baggage. I've been through it, as
I told you, but--" The young man frowned whimsically and lit a
cigarette. "It doesn't diagnose. I can't find a solitary symptom of
anything worth while. Sit down, won't you?"

Mr. Hyde's manner changed for a second time. He was embarrassed,
apologetic, crestfallen. "_Your_ cabin? Why, then--it's my mistake!"
he declared. "I must 'a' got in the wrong flat. Mac sent me up for a
deck of cards, but--Say, that's funny, ain't it?"

He began to see the joke upon himself, and the youth echoed his
laughter.

"It _is_ funny," the latter agreed. "For Heaven's sake, don't spoil
it. Sit down and have a smoke; I'm not going to eat you."

"See here! You don't mean--? D'you think for a minute--?" Mr.
Hyde began with rotund dignity, but the other waved his cigarette
impatiently, saying:

"Oh, drop that stuff or I'll page your friend 'Mac' and show you up."

In assuming his air of outraged innocence Laughing Bill had arched
his hollow chest and inhaled deeply. As a result he began to cough,
whereupon his new acquaintance eyed him keenly, saying:

"That's a bad bark. What ails you?"

"Con," said Laughing Bill.

"Pardon me. I wouldn't have smoked if I'd known." The speaker dropped
his cigarette and placed a heel upon it. "What are you doing here?
Alaska's no place for weak lungs."

Gingerly seating himself upon the narrow settee Mr. Hyde murmured,
wonderingly: "Say! You're a regular guy, ain't you?" He began to laugh
again, but now there was less of a metallic quality to his merriment.
"Yes sir, dam' if you ain't." He withdrew from his pocket a
silver-mounted hair-brush and comb, and placed them carefully upon the
washstand. "I don't aim to quit winner on a sport like you."

"Thanks, awfully!" smiled the young man. "I'd have fought you for that
comb and brush. Girl stuff, you understand? That's she." He pointed to
a leather-framed photograph propped against the mirror.

Laughing Bill leaned forward and studied the picture approvingly.
"Some queen, all right. Blonde, I reckon."

"Sure. You like blondes?"

"Who, me? I ain't strong for no kind of women. You hate her, don't
you?"

The young man smiled more widely, his whole face lit up. "I hate her
so much that I kissed her good-by and sai