e disaster for a single month on an income so pitiful.

Probably on the morning on which he set out for downtown in search of
money enough to enable him to live decently, not less than ten thousand
men on Manhattan Island left comfortable or luxurious homes faced with
precisely the same problem. And each and every one of them knew that on
that day or some day soon they must find the money demanded imperiously
by their own and their families' tastes and necessities or be
ruined--flung out, trampled upon, derided as failures, hated by the
"loved ones" they had caused to be humiliated. And every man of that
legion had a fine, an unusually fine brain--resourceful, incessant,
teeming with schemes for wresting from those who had dollars the dollars
they dared not go home without. And those ten thousand quickest and most
energetic brains, by their mode of thought and action, determined the
thought and action of the entire country--gave the mercenary and
unscrupulous cast to the whole social system. Themselves the victims of
conditions, they were the bellwethers to millions of victims compelled
to follow their leadership.

Norman, by the roundabout mode of communication he and Tetlow had
established, summoned his friend and backer to his office. "Tetlow," he
began straight off, "I've got to have more money."

"How much?" said Tetlow.

"More than you can afford to advance me."

"How much?" repeated Tetlow.

"Three thousand a month right away--at the least."

"That's a big sum," said Tetlow.

"Yes, for a man used to dealing in small figures. But in reality it's a
moderate income."

"Few large families spend more."

"Few large or small families in my part of New York pinch along on so
little."

"What has happened to you?" said Tetlow, dropping into a chair and
folding his fat hands on his stomach.

"Why?" asked Norman.

"It's in your voice--in your face--in your cool demand for a big
income."

"Let's start right, old man," said Norman. "Don't _call_ thirty-six
thousand a year big or you'll _think_ it big. And if you think it big, you
will stay little."

Tetlow nodded. "I'm ready to grow," said he. "Now what's happened to
you?"

"I've got married," replied Norman.

"I thought so. To Miss--Hallowell?"

"To Miss Hallowell. So my way's clear, and I'm going to resume the
march."

"Yes?"

"I've two plans. Either will serve. The first is yours--the one you
partly revealed to me the other day."

"Partly?" sa