Take my case: I
had more brains, more energy, more character, than he. But he was a man;
so I had to live his life. A rotten sort of life it was. And when it was
over--well, look at me. I've learned to drink gin and to make a living
as a fortune-teller. And the worst of it is, I don't care who knows it.
Wanted details, didn't you? Well, you've got 'em."

I glances at J. Bayard, and finds him lookin' the other way with his lip
curled. You couldn't blame him so much. Listenin' to a female party tell
the story of her life ain't inspirin', and we're all apt to duck things
of that kind. They may be true; but it's easier and pleasanter to look
the other way. As for me, I want to, but can't. I just got to take
things as they are and as they come. Forgettin' weeds in the back yard
don't get rid of 'em. I'm apt to paw around and see where the roots
spread to.

Meanwhile J. Bayard has stepped over by the window and signals me to
follow. "Disgusting, isn't it?" says he. "And you see by this creature's
own story that she doesn't deserve a penny of Pyramid's money. He was
fooled by her, that's all."

"Not Pyramid," says I. "Didn't he have her married name on the slip too?
So he must have found out."

"That's so," says Steele. "Well, suppose we give her fifty or so, and
ship her off."

"That's kind of small, considerin' the pile we got to draw on, ain't
it!" says I. "And it strikes me that since Pyramid put her name down he
meant---- Let's see if there ain't something special she wants."

"Say," sings out Mrs. Shaw, "what about that will business? If it was
old Gordon, I suppose he wouldn't leave me much. He had no call to."

"About what would you expect, now?" says I, as we drifts back to her.

She squints foxy at us for a minute. "After all this fuss," says she,
"it ought to be two or three hundred--maybe five. No, I mean a
thousand."

"Huh!" says I. "A thousand! Got your nerve with you, ain't you? But
suppose it was that much, what would you do with it?"

"Do!" says she, her eyes brightenin'. "Why, I would--I---- Ah, what's
the use! I'd make a fool of myself, of course. And inside of ten days
I'd be in a D.T. ward somewhere."

"No old home or folks that you could go back to?" I suggests.

She shakes her head. "It's too late for me to go back," says she. "Too
late!" She don't try to be tragic, don't even whine it out, but just
states it dull and flat.

"But most everyone has a friend or so somewhere," says I.

At