Now, Swiftwater and Gussie had been in the habit of breakfasting on fresh eggs some days before, when the first infrequent trader of the season had managed, after enduring several wrecks on the upper river, to reach Dawson. Fresh eggs were to Gussie what chocolates and bon bons are to the average girl in the States. The next morning Swiftwater arrived at the restaurant for breakfast, a little earlier than usual, and in a few minutes the waiter placed before him a steaming hot platter containing an even dozen of the eggs, nicely poached and served on small strips of toast. Just then Gussie came in for her breakfast and seated herself at the other end of the little dining room. It was long after the usual hour for breakfast, and they were the only two in the room. Without doing Swiftwater the honor of passing so much as a glance in his direction, Gussie said to the waiter: “Bring me a full order of fried eggs.” “We ain’t got no eggs, mum; they was all sold out last night,” said the waiter. Gussie’s face flamed with anger, but only for an instant. Then she picked up her plate, her knife and fork and napkin and strode over to the table where Swiftwater sat. [Illustration: SWIFTWATER AND GUSSIE LAMORE ARE RECONCILED OVER A HOT PLATTER OF FRESH EGGS, AT DAWSON.] “I guess I’ll have some eggs, after all,” said Gussie, without looking at Swiftwater, as she liberally helped herself from his platter. Then both of them burst out laughing and peace reigned once more between them. Of course, Swiftwater figured that he had won a substantial victory by reaching Gussie’s heart through her stomach. But, as a matter of fact, we all figured that the laugh was on Swiftwater, and I think every woman who reads this story will agree with me. CHAPTER III. SWIFTWATER has often told me that he never could quite understand why it was that the way to a woman’s heart, even his own way--Swiftwater’s--was so hard to travel and so devious and tortuous in its windings and interwindings. “Why, Mrs. Beebe,” Swiftwater used to say, “I should think a man could do anything with gold! And for my own part, I used to always figure that money would buy anything,” said Swiftwater, “even the most beautiful woman in the world for your wife.” Swiftwater’s mental processes were simple, as the foregoing will illustrate. It was hardly to be expected otherwise. Swiftwater decamped from the drudgery and slavish toil of a kitchen in the little road-house at Circle City to gain in less than three months more money than he had ever dreamed it possible for him to have. Two hundred thousand dollars was the minimum of Swiftwater’s first big clean-up. If Gussie Lamore had lovers, Swiftwater figured, his money would win her heart away from all the rest.