TWO DIANAS IN ALASKA 309 



can't be sick yet. Cyrus, let go of that there rope. 

 Hiram, quit cutting your name on the deck. Poppa, 

 help me scare these 'ere boys ! Ain't the selfish- 

 ness of men turrible? I can't tell what in the wide 

 world women get married for!" 



We shared a stuffy cabin, furnished with three 

 bunks a-heap with dark-coloured blankets, with a 

 well-meaning woman, who was unfortunately very 

 deaf. A great conversationalist too, which compli- 

 cated matters. 



" I," she said proudly, introducing herself, " I am 

 the professional gambler's wife." 



I do not know what a professional gambler may 

 be, but he is evidently a personage of sorts. 



"Who are you?" the lady questioned. 



We bawled out humbly that we had no real reason 

 to be in the world at all. We were just English- 

 women, back from hunting different varieties of 

 Alaskan game. 



"You walk very lame? I didn't notice it." 



"I'm afraid we're going to have it rough," said 

 Cecily, trying not to smile. 



" Had about enough? I should think so, I had 

 long ago. We're packed like herrings in a barrel." 



Then dinner, or rather a cross between dinner, 

 tea, and breakfast. Every one could not sit down at 

 once, and the meal came off in sections. The cap- 

 tain, a bluff American, served out portions of a 

 centipede chicken, a bird run entirely to leg. The 

 prospectors, miners, loggers, and indiscriminate race 

 mixings wielded knives with the dexterity of jugglers, 



