A Flutter in Eggs
It was in the A. C. Company's big store at Dawson, on a morning of
crisp frost, that Lucille Arral beckoned Smoke Bellew over to the
dry-goods counter. The clerk had gone on an expedition into the
storerooms, and, despite the huge, red-hot stoves, Lucille had drawn
on her mittens again.
Smoke obeyed her call with alacrity. The man did not exist in Dawson
who would not have been flattered by the notice of Lucille Arral, the
singing soubrette of the tiny stock company that performed nightly at
the Palace Opera House.
"Things are dead," she complained, with pretty petulance, as soon as
they had shaken hands. "There hasn't been a stampede for a week. That masked ball Skiff Mitchell was going to give us has been postponed. There's no dust in circulation. There's always standing-room now at the Opera House. And there hasn't been a mail from the Outside for two whole weeks. In short, this burg has crawled into its cave and gone to sleep. We've got to do something. It needs livening--and you and I can do it. We can give it excitement if anybody can. I've broken with Wild Water, you know."
Smoke caught two almost simultaneous visions. One was of Joy Gastell; the other was of himself, in the midst of a bleak snow-stretch, under a cold arctic moon, being pot-shotted with accurateness and dispatch by the aforesaid Wild Water. Smoke's reluctance at raising excitement with the aid of Lucille Arral was too patent for her to miss.
"I'm not thinking what you are thinking at all, thank you," she
chided, with a laugh and a pout. "When I throw myself at your head
you'll have to have more eyes and better ones than you have now to see
me."
"Men have died of heart disease at the sudden announcement of good
fortune," he murmured in the unveracious gladness of relief.
"Liar," she retorted graciously. "You were more scared to death than
anything else. Now take it from me, Mr. Smoke Bellew, I'm not going
to make love to you, and if you dare to make love to me, Wild Water
will take care of your case. You know HIM. Besides, I--I haven't
really broken with him."
"Go on with your puzzles," he jeered. "Maybe I can start guessing
what you're driving at after a while."
"There's no guessing, Smoke. I'll give it to you straight. Wild
Water thinks I've broken with him, don't you see."
"Well, have you, or haven't you?"
"I haven't--there! But it's between you and me in confidence. He
thinks I have. I made a noise like breaking with him, and he deserved
it, too."
"Where do I come in, stalking-horse or fall-guy?"
"Neither. You make a pot of money, we put across the laugh on Wild
Water and cheer Dawson up, and, best of all, and the reason for it
all, he gets disciplined. He needs it. He's--well, the best way to
put it is, he's too turbulent. Just because he's a big husky, because
he owns more rich claims than he can keep count of--"
"And because he's engaged to the prettiest little woman in Alaska," Smoke interpolated.
"Yes, and because of that, too, thank you, is no reason for him to get
riotous. He broke out last night again. Sowed the floor of the M. &
M. with gold-dust. All of a thousand dollars. Just opened his poke
and scattered it under the feet of the dancers. You've heard of it, of course."
"Yes; this morning. I'd like to be the sweeper in that establishment. But still I don't get you. Where do I come in?"
"Listen. He was too turbulent. I broke our engagement, and he's
going around making a noise like a broken heart. Now we come to it. I like eggs."
"They're off!" Smoke cried in despair. "Which way? Which way?"
"Wait."
"But what have eggs and appetite got to do with it?" he demanded.
"Everything, if you'll only listen."
"Listening, listening," he chanted.
"Then for Heaven's sake listen. I like eggs. There's only a limited
supply of eggs in Dawson."
"Sure. I know that, too. Slavovitch's restaurant has most of them. Ham and one egg, three dollars. Ham and two eggs, five dollars. That means two dollars an egg, retail. And only the swells and the Arrals and the Wild Waters can afford them."
"He likes eggs, too," she continued. "But that's not the point. I
like them. I have breakfast every morning at eleven o'clock at
Slavovitch's. I invariably eat two eggs." She paused impressively. "Suppose, just suppose, somebody corners eggs."