ell me nothing. I'm sick and tired of framing stuff and then
have you throw it down because you've lost your nerve and are afraid of a
girl. I'm done, I tell you. If you think you can improve on my plans, go
ahead. I'm through. I won't--"

Anson capitulated immediately. "Now don't get sore, Mart," he whined, "I
know I'm no good on this frameup stuff. Maybe I am a little nervous. Go
ahead with your plan--I guess it's the best one. Don't let's fight about
it."

"All right," rejoined Druce. "Now that's settled. I'll handle this thing.
All you've got to do is keep your trap shut and stand pat."

The conversation was interrupted by the angry and maudlin exclamations of
a girl. She had been sitting at a distant table half asleep. A porter had
wakened her.

"I won't go home and sleep," she shrieked. "Keep your hands off me, you
dirty nigger."

"Now what's the trouble?" demanded Druce of Anson.

"Swede Rose has been drunk all night."

"We've got to get rid of her. She's always pulling this rough stuff."

"Not now," warned Anson. "It's too hard to get new girls. When she's
sober she's a wise money getter."

"Damn her," muttered Druce, "I don't like her anyway. She had the nerve
to slap my face the other night because I wouldn't give her money for
hop. As soon as this lease is signed I'm going down state. I'll bring
back some new stock and then it's 'On your way' for that wildcat."

"Let me handle her," advised Anson. He got up and walked over to the
table where the girl was having the altercation with the negro. She was
still young, but drink and drugs had left ineffaceable lines upon her
face. She was beautiful, even this morning after her night's debauch, for
she possessed a regularity of feature and a fine contour of figure that
not even death itself could wreck. Her disheveled hair showed here and
there traces of gray. Her skin was a dead white, save where two pink
spots blazed in either cheek.

"Here he comes," called the girl, catching sight of Anson. "Good old
Carter. Ans," she went on, "chase this coon out of here; he won't let me
sleep." Anson motioned the porter to keep his distance. "An' say, Ans,"
the girl went on, "gimme a quarter. I'm broke and I got to have some hop
or die."

Anson handed the negro a quarter without a word. The porter hurried out
of the cafe.

"He wanted to chase me out," the girl whimpered.

"Well, Rose," Anson went on pacifically, "you've got to cut out this all
night booze thi