he table with his fist. "I'm glad you said that," he cried
triumphantly. "There's a lie in that, and I want to nail it. The man gives
only his money, you say. Do you understand what that means where a
hard-working devil is concerned? What has he got besides the few pennies
he earns? When he gives his money, isn't he giving his strength and his
youth? Isn't he giving his manhood? Isn't he giving the things that are
his for only a few years, and that he can't get back again? I'm not
talking about the dandies who have a lot of money they never earned. I
should think a woman with as much as one bone in her body would take a
shotgun to that sort whenever they came around. I'm talking about the
fellows that sweat for what they get. A lot of mollycoddles and virtuous
damn fools have built up that Sunday-school junk about the woman giving
everything, and the man giving nothing. But I want to tell you it's nip
and tuck as to who gives the most. A woman takes a man's money as if it
grew on bushes. Go and watch him earn it, if you want to know what his
part of the bargain is."

She felt as if she were being crowded against a wall. She could not look
at him. She groped for a weapon--for any weapon--with which to fight him.
"That would sound a little more impressive, Fectnor," she said, "if I
didn't know what brought you to Eagle Pass just now, and how you sweat for
the pay you got."

This was unfortunately said, for there was malice in it, and a measure of
injustice. He heard her calmly.

"This election business is only a side-line of mine," he replied. "I enjoy
it. There's nothing like knowing you can make a lot of so-called men roll
over and play dead. If a man wants to find out where he stands, let him
get out and try to make a crowd do something. Let him try to pull any
prunes-and-prism stuff, either with his pocketbook or his opinions, and
see where he gets off at. No, Sylvia, you played the wrong card. Eleven
months out of the year I work like a nigger, and if you don't know it,
you'd better not say anything more about it."

He clasped his hands about his knee and regarded her darkly, yet with a
kind of joyousness. There was no end of admiration in his glance, but of
kindness there was never a suggestion.

She gathered new energy from that look in his eyes. After all, they had
been arguing about things which did not matter now. "Fectnor," she said,
"I'm sure there must be a good deal of justice in what you say. But I know