In taking charge of a sick girl, a helpless, hopeless stranger, 'Poleon Doret had assumed a responsibility far greater than he had anticipated, and that responsibility had grown heavier every day. Having, at last, successfully discharged it, he breathed freely, his first relaxation¹ in a long time; he rejoiced in the consciousness of a difficult duty well performed. So far as he could see there was nothing at all extraordinary, nothing in the least improper², about Rouletta's engagement at the Rialto. Any suggestion of impropriety, in fact, would have greatly surprised him, for saloons and gambling³-halls filled a recognized place in the every-day social life of the Northland. Customs were free, standards were liberal in the early days; no one, 'Poleon least of all, would have dreamed that they were destined⁴ to change in a night. Had he been told that soon the country would be dry, and gambling-games and dance-halls be prohibited by law, he would have considered the idea too utterly⁵ fantastic for belief; the mere⁶ contemplation of such a dreary⁷ prospect⁸ would have proved extremely dispiriting. He—and the other pioneers of his kind—would have been tempted⁹ immediately to pack up and move on to some freer locality where a man could retain his personal liberty and pursue his happiness in a manner as noisy, as intemperate¹⁰, and as undignified as suited his individual taste.