“Poor kid,” Larry mused on--“and with only Old Jimmie for a father.” She did not know what to say. For a long time she had dreamed of this man as her hero; she had dreamed of splendid adventures with him in which she should win his praise. And now--and now-- He switched to another subject. “So you have decided to string along with your father and Barney?” “I have.” “Don't you do it, Maggie.” “Don't you preach, Larry.” “I'm not preaching. I'm just talking business to you. The same as I talked business to myself. The crooked game is a poor business for a woman who can do something else--and you can do something else. I've known a lot of women in the crooked game. They've all had a rotten finish, or are headed for one. So forget it, Maggie. There's more in the straight game.” She had swiftly come to feel herself stronger and wiser than her ex-hero. In her tremendous pride and confidence of eighteen, she regarded him almost with pitying condescension. “Something's softened your brain, Larry. I know better. The people who pretend to go straight are just fakes; they're playing a different kind of a smooth game, that's all. Everybody is out to get his, and get it the easiest and quickest way he can. You know that's so. And that's just what I am going to do.” Larry had once talked much the same way, but it seemed puzzlingly strange just now to hear such talk from a young girl. Then he understood. “You couldn't help having such ideas, Maggie, living among crooks ever since you were a kid. Why, Old Jimmie could not have used better methods, or got better results, if he had set out consciously to make you a crook.” Then a sudden possibility came to him. “D'you suppose he could always have had that plan--to make you into a crook?” he asked. “What difference does that make?” she demanded shortly. “A funny thing for a father to do with his own child,” Larry returned. “But whether Jimmie intended it or not, that's just what he's done.” “What I am, I am,” she retorted with her imperious defiance. Just then she felt that she hated him; she quivered with a desire to hurt him: he had so utterly destroyed her romantic hero and her romantic dreams. Her hands clenched. “You talk about going straight--it's all rot!” she flamed at him. “A lot of men say they're going straight, but no one ever does! And you won't either!” “You think I won't?” “I know you won't! You don't know how to do any regular work. And, besides, no one will give a crook a chance.” She had unerringly placed her finger upon his two great problems, and Larry knew it; he had considered them often enough. “All the same, I'm going to make good!” he declared. “Oh, no, you're not!”