ay, so you can lounge around Ju Penrose's saloon
spending dollars you've no right to, than risk your peace of mind on an
honest--yes, _honest_--transaction that's going to give me a little of
the comfort that you haven't the grit to help me to yourself."

The girl was carried away with the force of her own purpose and
craving. Every word she said was meant from the bottom of her soul.
There was not a shadow of yielding. She had no illusions. For two
years her heart had been hardening to its present condition, and she
would not give up one tittle of the chance that now opened out before
her hungry eyes.

Bob was clay in her hands. He was clay in any hands sufficiently
dominating. He knew from the moment he had delivered his appeal, and
he had heard only the tones of her reply, that it was he who must yield
or complete irrevocably the barrier which had been steadily growing up
between them. Just for a moment the weakly, obstinate thought had
occurred of flinging everything to the winds and of denying her once
more with all the force at his command. But the moment passed. It
fled before the charm of her presence, and the memory of the loved
which he was incapable of shutting out of his heart. He knew he was
right, and she was utterly wrong. But he knew, equally well, from her
words and attitude, that it was he who must give way, or----

He shook his head with a negative movement which Effie was quick enough
to realize meant yielding. She wanted him to yield. It would simplify
all her purpose. She desired that he should participate in the
transaction.

"You'll regret it, Effie," he said, in his usual easy tones. "You'll
regret it so you'll hate to think of this moment all the rest of your
life. It's not you talking, my dear, it's just--the experience you've
had to go through. Can't you see? You've never been like this before.
And it isn't you. Say, I'd give my right hand it you'd quit the whole
thing."

But the girl's resolution was unwavering.

"You--still refuse--to countenance it?" she demanded.

Again Bob shook his head. But now he moved away and struck a match to
relight his pipe.

"No," he said. Then he slowly puffed out great clouds of smoke. "No,
my dear, if you're bent on it." Then he moved to the cook-stove and
supported one foot upon it.

"Say--you guess I'm selfish. You guess I haven't acted as I ought to
help push our boat along. You reckon I've become a sort of
saloon-loafin