oing to sacrifice these
luxuries for any great length of time?"

"I intend to give them to her," replied Madison promptly.

"On thirty dollars a week?"

"I propose to go out and make a lot of money."

"How?"

"I haven't decided yet, but you can bet your sweet life that if I ever
try and make up my mind that it's got to be, it's got to be."

Brockton looked skeptical.

"Never have made it, have you?" he said.

"I have never tried," replied Madison doggedly.

"Then how do you know you can?"

"I'm honest and energetic, that's how I know!" retorted the journalist.
With a sneer he added: "If you can get great wealth the way you go
along, I don't see why I can't earn a little."

Puffing vigorously at his expensive perfecto, Brockton strode leisurely
up and down the terrace. He spoke calmly and dispassionately, as if he
personally were not in the least concerned with the subject under
discussion. From his manner one might take him for an elderly brother
advising a junior of life's many pitfalls.

"That's where you make a mistake," he said coolly. "Money doesn't
always come with brilliancy. I know a lot of fellows in New York who
can paint a fine picture, write a good play, and when it comes to
oratory they've got me lashed to a pole. But, somehow, they never make
money. They're always in debt. They never get anything for what they
do. In other words, young man, they are like a sky rocket without a
stick--plenty of brilliancy, but no direction. They blow up and fizzle
all over the ground."

"That's in New York," interrupted Madison scornfully. "I'm in Colorado.
I guess you know there is a difference."

The broker shrugged his shoulders.

"I hope you'll make your money," he said carelessly, "because, I tell
you frankly, that's the only way you can hold this girl. She's full of
heroics now, self sacrifice, and all the things that go to make up the
third act of a play, but the minute she comes to darn her stockings,
wash out her own handkerchiefs and dry them on the windows and send out
for a pail of coffee and a sandwich for lunch, take it from me--she'll
change her tune!" Suddenly confronting his rival, he went on: "You're
in Colorado writing her letters once a day with no cheques in them.
That may be all right for some girl who hasn't tasted the joy of easy
living, full of the good things of life, but one who for ten years has
been doing very well in the way these women do, is not going to let up
for any gre