Floyd Vanderlip was a strong man, apparently.  Hard work and hard grub had no terrors for him, as his early history in the country attested.  In danger he was a lion, and when he held in check half a thousand starving men, as he once did, it was remarked that no cooler eye ever took the glint of sunshine on a rifle-sight.  He had but one weakness, and even that, rising from out his strength, was of a negative sort.  His parts were strong, but they lacked co-ordination.  Now it happened that while his centre of amativeness was pronounced, it had lain mute and passive during the years he lived on moose and salmon and chased glowing Eldorados over chill divides.  But when he finally blazed the corner-post and centre-stakes on one of the richest Klondike claims, it began to quicken; and when he took his place in society, a full-fledged Bonanza King, it awoke and took charge of him.  He suddenly recollected a girl in the States, and it came to him quite forcibly, not only that she might be waiting for him, but that a wife was a very pleasant acquisition for a man who lived some several degrees north of 53.  So he wrote an appropriate note, enclosed a letter of credit generous enough to cover all expenses, including trousseau and chaperon, and addressed it to one Flossie.  Flossie?  One could imagine the rest.  However, after that he built a comfortable cabin on his claim, bought another in Dawson, and broke the news to his friends.

And just here is where the lack of co-ordination came into play.  The waiting was tedious, and having been long denied, the amative element could not brook further delay.  Flossie was coming; but Loraine Lisznayi was here.  And not only was Loraine Lisznayi here, but her cosmopolitan reputation was somewhat the worse for wear, and she was not exactly so young as when she posed in the studios of artist queens and received at her door the cards of cardinals and princes.  Also, her finances were unhealthy.  Having run the gamut in her time, she was now not averse to trying conclusions with a Bonanza King whose wealth was such that he could not guess it within six figures.  Like a wise soldier casting about after years of service for a comfortable billet, she had come into the Northland to be married.  So, one day, her eyes flashed up into Floyd Vanderlip’s as he was buying table linen for Flossie in the P. C. Company’s store, and the thing was settled out of hand.

When a man is free much may go unquestioned, which, should he be rash enough to cumber himself with domestic ties, society will instantly challenge.  Thus it was with Floyd Vanderlip.  Flossie was coming, and a low buzz went up when Loraine Lisznayi rode down the main street behind his wolf-dogs.  She accompanied the lady reporter of the “Kansas City Star” when photographs were taken of his Bonanza properties, and watched the genesis of a six-column article.  At that time they were dined royally in Flossie’s cabin, on Flossie’s table linen.  Likewise there were comings and goings, and junketings, all perfectly proper, by the way, which caused the men to say sharp things and the women to be spiteful.  Only Mrs. Eppingwell did not hear.  The distant hum of wagging tongues rose faintly, but she was prone to believe good of people and to close her ears to evil; so she paid no heed.