ith the money, that you never think of--the
education of the children, the improvement of conditions--"

"Educate the children, so that they can lay hold of the long end of the
rope, instead of the short end," said the doctor, with a little giggle.

"Ay, that's it," said Brewitt. "I've pulled at th' short end, an' my
lads may do th' same."

"A selfish policy," put in the landlady.

"Selfish or not, they may do it."

"Till the crack o' doom," said Aaron, with a glistening smile.

"Or the crack o' th' rope," said Brewitt.

"Yes, and THEN WHAT?" cried the landlady.

"Then we all drop on our backsides," said Kirk. There was a general
laugh, and an uneasy silence.

"All I can say of you men," said the landlady, "is that you have a
narrow, selfish policy.--Instead of thinking of the children, instead of
thinking of improving the world you live in--"

"We hang on, British bulldog breed," said Brewitt. There was a general
laugh.

"Yes, and little wiser than dogs, wrangling for a bone," said the
landlady.

"Are we to let t' other side run off wi' th' bone, then, while we sit on
our stunts an' yowl for it?" asked Brewitt.

"No indeed. There can be wisdom in everything.--It's what you DO with
the money, when you've got it," said the landlady, "that's where the
importance lies."

"It's Missis as gets it," said Kirk. "It doesn't stop wi' us." "Ay, it's
the wife as gets it, ninety per cent," they all concurred.

"And who SHOULD have the money, indeed, if not your wives? They have
everything to do with the money. What idea have you, but to waste it!"

"Women waste nothing--they couldn't if they tried," said Aaron Sisson.

There was a lull for some minutes. The men were all stimulated by drink.
The landlady kept them going. She herself sipped a glass of brandy--but
slowly. She sat near to Sisson--and the great fierce warmth of her
presence enveloped him particularly. He loved so to luxuriate, like a
cat, in the presence of a violent woman. He knew that tonight she was
feeling very nice to him--a female glow that came out of her to him.
Sometimes when she put down her knitting, or took it up again from
the bench beside him, her fingers just touched his thigh, and the fine
electricity ran over his body, as if he were a cat tingling at a caress.

And yet he was not happy--nor comfortable. There was a hard, opposing
core in him, that neither the whiskey nor the woman could dissolve or
soothe, tonight. It remained hard