"Indeed!" Pierce was nonplussed. The girl nodded. "You looked good to me when you came in. Are you going to Dawson?" "Of course. Everybody is going to Dawson." "I suppose you have partners?" "No!" Pierce's face darkened. "I'm alone--very much alone." He undertook to speak in a hollow, hopeless tone. "Big outfit?" "None at all. But I have enough money for my needs and--I'll probably hook up with somebody." Now there was a brave but cheerless resignation in his words. Laure pondered for a moment; even more carefully than before she studied her companion. That the result satisfied her she made plain by saying: "Morris wants men. I can get him to hire you. Would you like to hook up with us?" "I don't know. It doesn't much matter. Will you have something to drink now?" "Why should I? They don't give any percentage here. Wait! I'll see Morris and tell you what he says." Leaving Pierce, the speaker hurried to a harassed little man of Hebraic countenance who was engaged in the difficult task of chaperoning this unruly aggregation of talent. To him she said: "I've found a man for you, Morris." "Man?" "To go to Dawson with us. That tall, good-looking fellow at the bar." Mr. Best was bewildered. "What ails you?" he queried. "I don't want any men, and you know it." "You want this fellow, and you're going to hire him." "Am I? What makes you think so?" "Because it's--him or me," Laure said, calmly. Mr. Best was both surprised and angered at this cool announcement. "You mean, I s'pose, that you'll quit," he said, belligerently. "I mean that very thing. The man has money--" Best's anger disappeared as if by magic; his tone became apologetic. "Oh! Why didn't you say so? If he'll pay enough, and if you want him, why, of course--" Laure interrupted with an unexpected dash of temper. "He isn't going to pay you anything: you're going to pay him--top wages, too. Understand?" The unhappy recipient of this ultimatum raised his hands in a gesture of despair. "Himmel! There's no understanding you girls! There's no getting along with you, either. What's on your mind, eh? Are you after him or his coin?" "I--don't know." Laure was gazing at Phillips with a peculiar expression. "I'm not sure. Maybe I'm after both. Will you be good and hire him, or--" "Oh, you've got me!" Best declared, with frank resentment. "If you want him, I s'pose I'll have to get him for you, but"--he muttered an oath under his breath--"you'll ruin me. Oy! Oy! I'll be glad when you're all in Dawson and at work." After some further talk the manager approached Phillips and made himself known. "Laure tells me you want to join our troupe," he began. "I'll see that he pays you well," the girl urged. "Come on." Phillips' thoughts were not quite clear, but, even so, the situation struck him as grotesquely amusing. "I'm no song-and-dance man," he said, with a smile. "What would you expect me to do? Play a mandolin?"