The Virgin pouted a moment,
then followed in the wake of the other dancers.
"I'll bring you a sandwich, Daylight," she called back over her
shoulder.
He nodded. She was smiling her forgiveness. He had escaped the
apron-string, and without hurting her feelings too severely.
"Let's play markers," he suggested. "Chips do everlastingly
clutter up the table....If it's agreeable to you-all?"
"I'm willing," answered Hal Campbell. "Let mine run at five
hundred."
"Mine, too," answered Harnish, while the others stated the values
they put on their own markers, French Louis, the most modest,
issuing his at a hundred dollars each.
In Alaska, at that time, there were no rascals and no tin-horn
gamblers. Games were conducted honestly, and men trusted one
another. A man's word was as good as his gold in the blower. A
marker was a flat, oblong composition chip worth, perhaps, a
cent. But when a man betted a marker in a game and said it was
worth five hundred dollars, it was accepted as worth five hundred
dollars. Whoever won it knew that the man who issued it would
redeem it with five hundred dollars' worth of dust weighed out on
the scales. The markers being of different colors, there was no
difficulty in identifying the owners.
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