tch comes they fail!" Nance echoed.

"Money never fails!" Jim continued eagerly. "It's the god that knows no
right or wrong----"

He touched the pile in the plate and drew the bag close for her to see.

"How much do you guess is there?"

Nance gazed greedily into the open bag and looked again at the shining
heap in the plate.

"I dunno--a million, I reckon."

The man laughed.

"Not quite that much! But enough to make you rich for life--IF you had
it."

The old woman turned away pathetically and shook her gray head.

"I wouldn't have to work no more, would I?"

Her thin hands touched the faded, dirty dress.

"And I could buy me a decent dress," her voice sank to a whisper, "and I
could find my boy."

"You bet you could!" Jim exclaimed. "There's just one god in this world
now, old girl--the Almighty Dollar!"

He paused and leaned close, persuasively:

"Suppose now, the man that got that money had to kill a fool to take
it--what of it? You don't get big money any other way. A burglar watches
his chance, takes his life in his hands and drills his way into a house.
He finds a fool there who fights. It's not his fault that the man was
born a fool, now is it?"

"Mebbe not----"

"Of course not. A burglar kills but one to get his pile, and then only
because he must, in self-defence. A big gambling capitalist corners
wheat, raises the price of bread and starves a hundred thousand children
to death to make his. It's not stained with blood. Every dollar is
soaked in it! Who cares?"

"Yeah--who cares?" Nance growled fiercely.

Jim smiled at his easy triumph.

"It's dog eat dog and the devil take the hindmost now!"

"That's so--ain't it?" she agreed.

"You bet! Business is business and the best man's the man that gets
there. Steal a hundred dollars, you go to the penitentiary--foolish!
Don't do it. Steal a million and go to the Senate!"

"Yeah!" Nance laughed.

"Money--money for its own sake," he rushed on savagely--"right or wrong.
That's all there is in it today, old girl--take it from me!"

He paused and his smile ended in a sneer.

"Man shall eat bread in the sweat of his brow? Only fools SWEAT!"

Nance turned her face away, sighed softly, glancing back at Jim
furtively.

"I reckon that's so, too. Have another drink, stranger?"

She poured another cup of whiskey and one for herself. She raised hers
as if to drink and deftly threw the contents over her shoulder.

Jim seized the jug and poured