"One day, just before the last boat pulled down river, Mr. Struthers,
the picture man, come to us--R. Alonzo Struthers, of London and
'Frisco, he was--and showin' us a picture, he says:

"'Ain't that great? Sunday supplements! Full page! Big display!
eh?'

"It sure was. 'Bout 9x9, and showing every detail of the Reception
saloon. There was 'Single Out' analyzing the cuspidore and 'Curly'
dozin', as contorted and well-done as a pretzel. There was the crowd
hiding in the corners, and behind the faro-table stood the kid, one
hand among the scattered chips and cards, the other dominating the
layout with 'Curley's' 'six.' It couldn't have looked more natural
if we'd posed for it. It was a bully likeness, I thought, too, till
I seen myself glaring over the bar. All that showed of William P.
Joyce, bachelor of some arts and plenty of science, late of Dawson,
was the white of his eyes. And talkin' of white--say, I looked like
I had washing hung out. Seemed like the draught had riz my hair up,
too.

"'Nothing like it ever seen,' continues Struthers. 'I'll call it
'The Winning Card,' or 'At Bay,' or something like that. Feature it
as a typical Klondyke card game. I'll give you a two-page write-up.
Why, it's the greatest thing I ever did!'

"'I'm sorry,' says Morrow, thoughtful, 'but you musn't run it.'

"'What! says he, and I thinks, 'Oh, Lord! There goes my only show to
get perpetufied in ink.'