When the boat started she stood on the upper deck looking at me. Then, all of a sudden, she opened her two sacks of coin and began to throw the money by handfuls into the Bay, scattering it in shower after shower of gold till it was all gone. * * * * * Well, sir, the Yukon’s the place after all. I’ve blown in most all of my four hundred thousand, and what have I got for it? Kate will wait for me, the same way she waited for Flora Donovan. I’ve got one little claim I hung on to when I sold out the rest, and I’ve got the fever again. As soon as I’ve had my fun out, and that won’t be long, I’ll make for the snow country. * * * * * And some day, when Kate comes in from the fishing, she’ll crawl into her hut and find me there, smoking by the fire. So, with jest and story, the night wore on, and James Wiswell Coffin 3d pulled steadily at his cigars. He smoked nervously now, with a ruthless determination to finish at any hazard. More than once, in the early morning, he had to snatch hastily at a biscuit and swallow it to keep his gorge from rising at his foolhardy intemperance; but he manfully proceeded with a courage induced by the firm belief that if he failed, and attempted to evade payment of his bet, this gentle, green-eyed Klondyker would make him pay through the nose. It is not safe, in the West, for a man to wager high stakes with no assets. The youngster was by no means sure of his endurance. Already the weeds tasted vilely bitter and the fumes choked him pitifully, but still his sallies and repartees covered his fears as a shop-girl’s Raglan hides a shabby skirt. By the watch, he had succeeded in smoking his first cigar in eleven minutes. Keeping fairly well to this pace, eight o’clock found him with but four left in the box. Rather sallow, with a faded, set grin, still puffing, still chaffing, the Harvard Freshman was as cool as Athos under fire. The Klondyker was as excited as a heavy backer at a six-days’-go-as-you-please. The cigar-clerk had run out of racy tales and conundrums. At last but three Panatelas remained. “See here,” said the scion of the Puritans, “I promised to smoke the whole box, didn’t I, and to keep one lighted all the time? Well, I didn’t say only one, and so I’m going to make a spurt and smoke the last three at once.” The Klondyker demurred, and it was left for the cigar-salesman to decide. Coffin won. Making a grimace, the young fool, with a dying gasp of bravado, lighted the three, and while the others looked on with admiration, puffed strenuously to the horrid end. When the stumps were so short that he could hardly hold them between his lips the salesman pulled out a watch. “Seven hours, twenty-three minutes and six seconds—Coffin wins!” he cried.