"You know I don't throw things up to you, Jerry. I ain't that kind." Mr. Quirk stirred uneasily. "You didn't mean to say that, did you?" What Jerry would have answered is uncertain, for his attention at the moment was attracted by a stranger who strode down the bank and now accosted him and his partner jointly. "Bonjour, m'sieu's!" said the new-comer. "I'm lookin' for buy some lemon'. You got some, no?" Mr. Quirk spoke irritably. "Sure. We've got a few, but they ain't for sale." The stranger--Quirk remembered him as the Frenchman, Doret, whom he had seen at Sheep Camp--smiled confidently. "Oh yes! Everyt'ing is for sale if you pay 'nough for him," said he. Now this fellow had broken the thread of a conversation into which a vague undertone of acrimony was creeping--a conversation that gave every indication of developing into an agreeable and soul-satisfying difference of opinion, if not even into a loud and free-spoken argument of the old familiar sort. To have the promise of an invigorating quarrel frustrated by an idiotic diversion concerning lemons caused both old men to turn their pent-up exasperation upon the speaker. "We've got use for our lemons and we're going to keep them," said Tom. "We're lemon-eaters--full of acid--that's us." "We wouldn't give lemon aid to nobody." Jerry grinned in malicious enjoyment of his own wit. "You got how many?" 'Poleon persisted. "Oh, 'bout enough! Mebbe a dozen or two." "I buy 'em. Dere's poor seeck lady--" Tom cut in brusquely. "You won't buy anything here. Don't tell us your troubles. We've got enough of our own, and poverty ain't among the number." "W'at trouble you got, eh? Me, I'm de trouble man. Mebbe I fix 'em." Sourly the partners explained their difficulty. When 'Poleon understood he smiled again, more widely. "Good! I mak' bargain wit' you, queeck. Me, I'm pilot of de bes' an' I tak' your boat t'rough for dose lemon'." The elderly men sat up; they exchanged startled glances. "D'you mean it?" "I'm goin' have dose lemon'." "Can't you buy any in the saloons?" "No. Wal, w'at you say?" Tom inquired of his partner, "Reckon you can get along without 'em, Jerry?" "Why, I been savin' 'em for you." "Then it's a go!" "One t'ing you do for me, eh?" 'Poleon hesitated momentarily. "It's goin' tak' tam for fin' dam' fool to he'p me row dat bateau, but--I fin' him. Mebbe you set up wit' li'l seeck gal while I'm gone. What?" In a few words he made known the condition of affairs at his camp, and the old men agreed readily enough. With undisguised relief they clambered stiffly out of their boat and followed the French Canadian up the trail. As they toiled up the slope 'Poleon explained: "De doctor he's go to Dawson, an' t'ree day dis gal been layin' seeck--crazee in de head. Every hour medicine, all de tam fire in de stove! Sapre! I'm half 'sleep." "We'll set up with her as long as you want," Tom volunteered. "Being a family man myself, I'm a regular nurse."