obliged to turn it into a joke. As it was, they smoked on in
understanding silence. Finally Peter went on:

"You see, I gave right in. You're different; you want to fight the
thing. Blest if I know what to tell you."

"Eva and I don't get on very well," said Ambrose shamefacedly. "She
doesn't like me around the house. But I respect her. You know that."

"Sure," said Peter.

"I couldn't do it, Peter," Ambrose went on after a while with seeming
irrelevance--howsoever Peter understood. "God knows it's not because I
think myself any better than anybody else, or because I think a man
does for himself by marrying a--by marrying up here. But I just
couldn't do it, that's all."

"No offense," said Peter. "Every man must chop his own trail. I won't
say but what you're right. But what are you going to do? A man can't
live and die alone."

"I don't know," said Ambrose.

"Tell you what," said Peter; "you take the furs out on the steamboat."

"I won't," said Ambrose quickly. "I went out last year. It's your
turn."

"But I'm contented here," said Peter.