At this the Harvard Freshman toppled and, dropping prone upon the floor, felt so desperately, so horribly, ill that for a while his nausea held him captive. The room went round. After a while he reeled to his feet and felt the cool touch of gold that the Klondyker was forcing into his palm. The ragged clouds of rotting smoke, the lines of bottles behind the bar, and the sanded floor swam in a troubled vision, and then his mind righted. “You were dead game all right, youngster,” the Klondyker was saying. “I never thought you’d see it through, but you earned your money. I’ll bet you never worked harder for a salary, though!” Coffin tried to smile, and drank a half pitcher of water. “Gentlemen,” he said, solemnly, leaning against the wall-paper, “one of life’s sweetest blessings has faded. I have lost one of Youth’s illusions. I shall never smoke again. There is nothing left for me to do but join the Salvation Army and knock the Demon Rum. My heart feels like a punching-bag after Fitz has finished practising with it, and my head is as light as a new-laid balloon. As for the dark-brown hole where my mouth used to be—brrrrrh! I move we pass out for fresh air. Funny, it seems a trifle smoky here! Wonder why. Come along and see me skate on the sidewalk. I’m as dizzy as Two-step Willie at the eleventh extra.” Then he patted the double eagles in his hand. “Every one of you little yellow boys has got to go out and get married, I must have a big family by to-night!” The Klondyker gasped. “For Heaven’s sake you don’t mean to say you’re going to begin again? You ought to be in the Receiving Hospital right now. Can you think of anything crazier to do after this? I’ll back you! I haven’t had so much fun since I left the Yukon. You’re likely to tip over the City Hall before night, if I don’t watch you.” “Well, well, I can’t quite keep up this pace, gentlemen,” said the cigar-clerk, “and I have to open up the shop. I’ll look you up to-night at the morgue!” He left hurriedly. Once outside, Coffin’s spirits rose. “I never really expected to greet yon glorious orb again,” he said. “Let’s climb up to Chinatown and get rich.” “Spending money is my mark; I’m a James P. Dandy when it comes to letting go of coin. I’m with you,” said the Klondyker. “Besides, I want to see how long before our luck changes.” The Freshman led the way up past St. Mary’s Church, without heeding the sacred admonition graved below the dial: “_Son, observe the time and flee from evil!_” a warning singularly apposite in that scarlet quarter of the town. They passed up the narrow Oriental lane of Dupont Street, the Chinatown highway, and, as he pointed out the sights, Coffin discoursed.