But the third voyager, who had with difficulty won his way up to the level of the street, presented the strangest appearance. There was something uncanny about him. As he gained the street, he waved back all proffered assistance, then paused, with his swaying body propped upon widespread legs, staring malignantly into the north. From their deep sockets his eyes glittered like live coals, while his blackened, swollen lips split in a grimace that bared his teeth. He raised his arms slowly and shook his clenched fists defiantly at the Polar skies, muttering unintelligible things, then staggered after his companions. CHAPTER VIII WHEREIN BOYD ADMITS HIS FAILURE A week later Boyd and George were watching the lights of Port Townsend blink out in the gloom astern. A quick change of boats at Juneau had raised their spirits, enabling them to complete the second stage of their journey in less than the expected time, and the southward run, out from the breath of the Arctics into a balmier climate, had removed nearly the last trace of their suffering from the frost. A sort of meditative silence which had fallen upon the two men was broken at last by George, who for some time had been showing signs of uneasiness. "How long are we going to stay in Seattle?" he inquired. "Only long enough," Boyd replied, "for me to arrange a connection with some bank. That will require a day, perhaps." "I suppose a feller has got to dress pretty swell back there in Chicago," George ventured. "Some people do." "Full-dress suits of clothes, eh?" "Yes." "Did you ever wear one?" "Certainly." "Well, I'll be--" The fisherman checked himself and gazed at his companion as if he saw him suddenly in a new light; in fact, he had discovered many strange phases of this young man's character during the past fortnight. "Right along?" he questioned, incredulously. "Why, yes. Pretty steadily." "All day, at a time?" Boyd laughed. "I haven't worn one in the daytime since I left college. They are used only at night." George pondered this for some time, while Emerson stared out into the velvet darkness, to be roused again a moment later. "A feller told me a funny thing once. He said them rich men back East had women come around and clean their finger-nails, and shine 'em up. Is that right?" "Quite right!" Another pause, then Balt cleared his throat and said, with an assumption of carelessness: "Well, I don't suppose--you ever had 'em--shine your finger-nails, did you?" "Yes." The big man opened his mouth to speak; then, evidently changing his mind, observed, "Seems to me I'd better stay here on the coast and wait for you." "No, indeed!" the other answered, quickly. "I will need you in raising that money. You know the practical side of the fishing business, and I don't." "All right, I'll go. If you can stand for me, I'll stand for the full-dress suits of clothes and the finger-nail women. Anyhow, it won't last long." "When were you outside last?" "Four years ago."