time of a penitentiary. The dollars for
mine. If they come on a cushion of down I'll handle 'em elegant with
kid gloves on my hands. I'm sick chasin'--sick to death."

Kars became caught in the interest of the talk. His dream picture
faded in the shades of night, and the reality of things about him
poured in upon him. He caught at the thread of discussion in his
eager, forceful way.

"You ain't right, Abe, and Bill, here, too, is wrong," he said, in his
amiably decided fashion. "Human life's just one great big darn foolish
'want.' It's the wage we're asking for all we do. Don't make any
Sunday-school mistake. We're asking pay for every act we play, and the
purse of old Prov is open most all the time. We all got a grouch set
up against life. Most of us know it. Some don't. If I know anything
of human nature we'd all squat around waiting till the end, doping our
senses without restraining the appetite Nature gave us, if it wasn't
for that blamed wage we're always yearning after. It's the law we've
got to work, and Prov sets the notion in us we want something as the
only way to keep our noses to the grinding mill. Those dollars ain't
the end of your want. They're just a kind of symbol, as Bill
says--till you've got 'em. After that you'll still be yearning for the
big opportunity same as you've been right along up to now. It's just
the symbol'll be diff'rent. You'll work, and cuss, and sweat, and
fight, just the same as you're ready to do now. You'll still be biting
the heels of old Prov for more. And Prov'll dope it out when you've
worked plenty, and He figgers you've earned your wage. Bill's here on
the same argument. He's got the dollars he needs, but he's still
chasing that wage. Maybe his wage is diff'rent from yours or mine.
Y'see he's quite a piece older. But he's worrying old Prov just as
hard. Bill's here because his notions of things lie along the line of
doping out healing to the poor darn fools who haven't the sense to keep
themselves whole. It don't matter who's going to be better for his
work on this layout. But when he's through, why, he'll open out his
hands to old Prov, and Prov'll dope out his wage. And that wage'll
come to him plenty when he sets around smoking his foul old pipe over a
stove, and thinks back--all to himself."

He smiled with a curious twisted sort of smile as he gazed almost
affectionately at the loyal little man of medicine. Then he turned
again to the ni