"Two minutes ago by the clock," laughs Radisson, looking at the
timepiece in the hall. "Two minutes and a half ago," says he,
following our host to the library.

"How many beaver-skins?" asks the Englishman, setting down his candle.

The Frenchman smiles.

"Twenty thousand beaver--skins and as many more of other sorts!"

The Englishman sits down to pencil out how much that will total at ten
shillings each; and Pierre Radisson winks at us.

"The winnings again," says he.

"Twenty thousand pounds!" cries our host, springing up.

"Aye," says Pierre Radisson, "twenty thousand pounds' worth o' fur
without a pound of shot or the trade of a nail-head for them. The
French had these furs in store ready for us!"

Mr. Young lifts his candle so that the light falls on Radisson's
bronzed face. He stands staring as if to make sure we are no wraiths.

"Twenty thousand pounds," says he, slowly extending his right hand to
Pierre Radisson. "Radisson, man, welcome!"

The Frenchman bows with an ironical laugh.

"Twenty thousand pounds' worth o' welcome, sir!"