In Winter Quarters 



Men hunt their respective will-o'- 

 the-wisps in many other places than 

 along the sands of the Yukon, only to 

 learn at last that if these have been 

 pursued at the price of the infinitely 

 greater things of life, failure shall be 

 written at the chapter's end. 



We probably get about what is com- 

 ing to us in this world, and with most 

 of us that isn't much if measured by 

 customary standards. The trouble is 

 that only about one in ten million has 

 had the luck to be endowed with the 

 ability to make a big worldly mark for 

 himself. Most of us may be fairly 

 represented by small dots scattered 

 along on either side of a horizontal line 

 that we may call the dead level of 

 mediocrity. These pin-heads are num- 

 bered in the millions, and as you look 

 above or below this median line you 

 will note that the dots that represent 

 the rest of the brethren grow fewer and 

 fewer until, both at the top and at the 

 bottom, you will observe the isolated 

 [200] 



