his cold bath on a winter morning.

The breakfast was laid with fine taste. A diminutive pine-tree, in a pot
hung round with wintergreen, stood in the centre of the table.

'Well, now, this looks good; porridge, beefsteak, potatoes, toast, and
marmalade.'

'I hope you will enjoy it all.'

There was not much talk over our meal. Mr. Craig was evidently
preoccupied, and as blue as his politeness would allow him. Slavin's
victory weighed upon his spirits. Finally he burst out, 'Look here! I
can't, I won't stand it; something must be done. Last Christmas this
town was for two weeks, as one of the miners said, "a little suburb of
hell." It was something too awful. And at the end of it all one young
fellow was found dead in his shack, and twenty or more crawled back to
the camps, leaving their three months' pay with Slavin and his suckers.

'I won't stand it, I say.' He turned fiercely on me. 'What's to be
done?'

This rather took me aback, for I had troubled myself with nothing of
this sort in my life before, being fully occupied in keeping myself out
of difficulty, and allowing others the same privilege. So I ventured
the consolation that he had done his part, and that a spree more or
less would not make much difference to these men. But the next moment
I wished I had been slower in speech, for he swiftly faced me, and his
words came like a torrent.