"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 again.

"Once more. Come, I've another toast for you. You'll drink this one I know."

He lifted his cup and rose a little unsteadily. Nance stood with uplifted cup watching him.

"As the poet sings," he began with a bow to the old woman:

"France has her lily, England the rose, Everybody knows where the shamrock grows-- Scotland has her thistle flowerin' on the hill, But the American Emblem--is a One Dollar Bill!"

He broke into a boisterous laugh.

"How's that, old girl?"

"That's bully, stranger!"

He lifted high his cup.

"We drink to the Almighty Dollar!"

"To the Almighty Dollar!" Nance echoed, clinking her cup against his.

He drained it while she again emptied hers over her shoulder.

"By golly, you're all right, old girl. You're a good fellow!" he cried jovially.

"Yeah--have another?" she urged.

She filled his cup and placed it on his side of the table. His eye had rested on the gold. He ignored the invitation, lifted a handful of gold and dropped it with musical clinking into the plate.

"Blood marks--tommyrot!" he sneered.

"Yeah--tommyrot!" she echoed. "That's what I say, too!"

Jim wagged his head sagely:

"Now you're talking sense, old girl!"

He leaned across the table and pointed his finger straight into her face.

"And don't you forget what I'm tellin' ye tonight--get money, get money!"

He stopped suddenly and a sneer curled his lips.

"Oh I Get it 'fairly'--get it 'squarely'--but whatever you do--by God!--GET IT!"

His uplifted hand crashed downward and gripped the gold. His fingers slowly relaxed and the coin clinked into the plate.

Nance watched him eagerly.

"Yeah, that's it--get it," she breathed slowly.

Jim lifted his drooping eyes to hers.

"If you've GOT it, you're a god--you can do no wrong. Nobody's goin' to ask you HOW you got it; all they want to know is HAVE you got it!"

"Yeah, nobody's goin' to ask you HOW you got it," Nance repeated, "they just want to know HAVE you got it! Yeah--yeah!"

"You bet!"

Jim's head sank in the first stupor of liquor and he dropped into the chair.

The old woman leaned eagerly over the plate of gold and clutched the coin with growing avarice. Her fingers opened and closed like a bird of prey. She touched it lovingly and held it in her hands a long time watching Jim's nodding head with furtive glances. She dropped a handful of coin into the plate and watched its effect on the drooping head.

He looked up and his eyes fell again.

"Bed-time, I reckon," Nance said.

"Yep--pretty tired. I'll turn in."

The old woman glided sidewise to the table near the kitchen door, picked up the lantern and started to feel her way backwards through the calico curtains.

"See you in the mornin', old gal," Jim drawled--"Christmas mornin'--an'

I got somethin' else to tell ye in the mornin'----"

Again his head sank to the table.

"All right, mister--good night!" Nance answered, slowly feeling her way through the opening, watching him intently.