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“Bring her in–here?” Thomas faced about quickly. “Humph! Not much.”

“Well, this ain’t no doll’s village, that’s a fact. It’s full of wicked men, and the women ain’t wuth braggin’ over. S’pose we go out and marry her?”

“We?” Thomas smiled for the first time.

“Sure. I’ll stick to the bitter finish.”

“I’m broke, Bill.”

“Pshaw, now! Don’t let that worry you. I got money.”

“You?” The doctor was surprised. “Where did you get it?”

“Well, I got it! That’s the main thing. It was–left to me.”

“Honestly?”

“What d’you mean, ‘honestly’?”

“How much?”

“I dunno, exactly. You see, I ain’t got it actually in my mit–“

“Oh!”

“But I’ll have it, all righto. It’s just waiting for me to close down on it. I reckon there must be a thousand gold buzzards in the stack, mebby more. It’s all yours.”

“Thanks!” said the physician, unimpressed.

“Look me in the eye.” Bill spoke earnestly. “Twenty thousand iron men ain’t so bad. It’ll buy a lot of doll’s clothes. We can have a big party–I ain’t kidding!” Then reading amused incredulity in his friend’s face he demanded: “How you know I ain’t got a rich uncle that raised me from a colt and that broke his heart at me runnin’ away and turning out wild, and has had lawyers gunnin’ for me ever since he knew he was gettin’ old and going to croak? How you know that, eh?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know anything about you, Bill. That’s one of the most interesting features of our friendship.”

“Well, pay a little attention to me. Now then, I figger it like this: I got lungs like a grasshopper, and the money won’t do me no good, so I’ll stake you and Miss Alice to it.”

Doctor Thomas eyed the speaker curiously. “I believe you would,” said he, after a moment.

“Would I? Say! You ever seen a feather bed tied up with a rope? You sit tight and I’ll slip you a roll just that size.”

“Of course you know I wouldn’t take it?”

“Why not? It’s more’n likely it’ll get me into evil company or gimme some bad habit, and I’ll gargle off before I’ve had a chance to spend it. I ain’t strong.”

“I’ll earn what I get, Billy.”

“All right. If you feel like that I’ll bet it for you on a crap game, and you can take the winnings–“

“Nothing doing. I want honest money–money that I can look in the face.”

Mr. Hyde was out of patience. “All money’s honest, after you get it!” he cried. “It’s gettin’ it that draws blood. I never knew the silver bird to fly off a dollar and scratch a guy, did you?”

“I want to make money–that’s why I came up to this God-forsaken place–but–when your uncle’s draft arrives you cash it.”

“Ain’t you the champeen bone-dome?” muttered Bill. Such an attitude seemed to him both senseless and quixotic, for he had never attached the least sentiment to money. Money was an elemental necessity, therefore he looked upon it with practical, unromantic eyes, and helped himself to it as he helped himself to such elemental necessities as air or water. Most of life’s necessaries had fallen into monopolistic hands and were used to wring tribute from unfortunate mortals who had arrived too late to share in the graft, as witness, for instance, Standard Oil. So ran Bill’s reasoning when he took the trouble to reason at all. Men had established arbitrary rules to govern their forays upon one another’s property, to be sure, but under cover of these artificial laws they stole merrily, and got away with it. Eagles did not scruple to steal from one another, horses ate one another’s fodder; why human beings should not do likewise had always puzzled Mr. Hyde. The basic principle held good in both cases, it seemed to him, and Doctor Thomas’s refusal to share in the coming legacy struck him as silly; it was the result of a warped and unsound philosophy. But argue as he would he could not shake his friend’s opinion of the matter.