e at letting
the old man share the increase of capital won by such speculation as
Dryfoos's, but he shook off the feeling. As the summer advanced, and the
artists and classes that employed Lindau as a model left town one after
another, he gave largely of his increasing leisure to the people in
the office of 'Every Other Week.' It was pleasant for March to see the
respect with which Conrad Dryfoos always used him, for the sake of his
hurt and his gray beard. There was something delicate and fine in it,
and there was nothing unkindly on Fulkerson's part in the hostilities
which usually passed between himself and Lindau. Fulkerson bore himself
reverently at times, too, but it was not in him to keep that up,
especially when Lindau appeared with more beer aboard than, as Fulkerson
said, he could manage shipshape. On these occasions Fulkerson always
tried to start him on the theme of the unduly rich; he made himself the
champion of monopolies, and enjoyed the invectives which Lindau heaped
upon him as a slave of capital; he said that it did him good.

One day, with the usual show of writhing under Lindau's scorn, he said,
"Well, I understand that although you despise me now, Lindau--"

"I ton't desbise you," the old man broke in, his nostrils swelling and
his eyes flaming with excitement, "I bity you."

"Well, it seems to come to the same thing in the end," said Fulkerson.
"What I understand is that you pity me now as the slave of capital, but
you would pity me a great deal more if I was the master of it."

"How you mean?"

"If I was rich."

"That would tebendt," said Lindau, trying to control himself. "If you
hat inheritedt your money, you might pe innocent; but if you hat mate
it, efery man that resbectedt himself would haf to ask how you mate it,
and if you hat mate moch, he would know--"

"Hold on; hold on, now, Lindau! Ain't that rather un-American doctrine?
We're all brought up, ain't we, to honor the man that made his money,
and look down--or try to look down; sometimes it's difficult on the
fellow that his father left it to?"

The old man rose and struck his breast. "On Amerigan!" he roared,
and, as he went on, his accent grew more and more uncertain. "What iss
Amerigan? Dere iss no Ameriga any more! You start here free and brafe,
and you glaim for efery man de right to life, liperty, and de bursuit of
habbiness. And where haf you entedt? No man that vorks vith his handts
among you has the liperty to bursue h