look up me ancestors. I have a firm belafe that they wance existed.
Ye may find nuggets in the Klondike, but niver good whiskey. 'Tis
likewise me intintion to have wan drink iv the rate stuff before I die.
Afther that 'tis me sworn resolve to return to the superveeshion iv me
Klondike properties. Indade, and I'm an Eldorado king; an' if ye'll be
wantin' the lind iv a tidy bit, it's meself that'll loan it ye."

"The same old, old Matt, who never grows old," Frona laughed.

"An' it's yerself is the thrue Welse, for all yer prize-fighter's
muscles an' yer philosopher's brains. But let's wander inside on the
heels of Louis an' Swiftwater. Andy's still tindin' store, I'm told,
an' we'll see if I still linger in the pages iv his mimory."

"And I, also." Frona seized him by the hand. It was a bad habit she
had of seizing the hands of those she loved. "It's ten years since I
went away."

The Irishman forged his way through the crowd like a pile-driver, and
Frona followed easily in the lee of his bulk. The tenderfeet watched
them reverently, for to them they were as Northland divinities. The
buzz of conversation rose again.

"Who's the girl?" somebody asked. And just as Frona passed inside the
door she caught the opening of the answer: "Jacob Welse's daughter.
Never heard of Jacob Welse? Where have you been keeping yourself?"