cost some noble of other days a king's ransom.

"No wanchee," Johnny shook his head.

"Ow!" Wo Cheng shook his head incredulously. This was his rarest
offering. "You no got cumshaw, money?" he grinned. "All wite, my say."

"No wanchee my," Johnny repeated.

The Chinaman took the garment away, and returned with a similar one,
less pretentious. This, too, was waved aside.

By this time Johnny had become impatient. Time was passing. A special
train was to go north at four o'clock. It was going for reindeer meat,
rations for the regiment that was Johnny's, or, at least, had been
Johnny's. He could catch a ride on that train. A five hundred mile lift
on a three thousand mile jaunt was not to be missed just because this
Chink was something of a blockhead.

Pushing the proprietor gently to one side, Johnny made his way toward
the back of the room. Scrutinizing the hangers as he went, and giving
them an occasional fling here and there, as some garment caught his eye,
he came presently upon a solid square yard of fur. With a grunt of
satisfaction, he dragged one of the garments from its place and held it
before the flickering yellow taper.

The thing was shaped like a middy-blouse, only a little longer and it
had a hood attached. It was made of the gray squirrel skins of Siberia,
and was trimmed with wolf's skin. As Johnny held it against his body, it
reached to his knees. It was, in fact, a parka, such as is worn by the