"Well, you're the craziest one I've seen yet," sez I, laughin'. "Why, if you had your way you'd utterly ruin business." "Business!" he yells, gettin' excited. "Do you know what business is?" I thought a moment. "I don't know all the' is to know about it," sez I, "but I expect to give it a fair good work-out before I'm through with it." "Business," he sez, leanin' across the table an' hittin' it with his finger-nail, "business is simply havin' the laws fixed so you can steal without havin' to pay any fine. What is business? Ain't it figgerin' an' schemin' to get away from a man whatever he happens to have? That's nothin' but stealin'." "Confound you," sez I, "do you mean to say that just because I'm goin' to engage in business I'm a thief?" He looked at me a moment an' then he shook his head. "No," he sez, "you won't never be that kind, you'll be some other kind; but that's about all business is--just thievery. Why, I once knew two men 'at was the best friends 'at ever lived; an' they just ruined their lives 'cause they couldn't resist the temptation of each tryin' to grab all. It was over the Creole Belle--" "Yes, but she was a woman!" I yells, jumpin' to my feet, an' leanin' over the table. "No, it was a mine," sez he, sittin' still. "A Creole is a cross-breed woman 'at came from New Orleans," sez I; "an' when they're good lookin' enough, they call 'em belles." "Well this here mine 'at I'm goin' to tell you about was called the Creole Belle," he sez. "For a longtime it didn't pay to amount to anything, an' then it began to pay; an' the two friends got covetous, an' first George had Jack killed an' then he gets killed himself by Jack's--" "No, he wasn't killed," I snaps in like a blame fool. The old man looked at me with his little shiny eyes all scrouged up. "Who wasn't killed?" he sez, slow an' cautious. "Why, George Jordan wasn't killed," I sez. "What would a kid like you know about it" sez he. "Well, I do know 'at he wasn't killed," I sez. "I been workin' for him; he don't live but a short way from here. Tell the the whole story. I'll make it worth your while. Come on, what'll you have to drink?" He leaned forward with his hand clutchin' at his side, an' his pink checks gray an' twisted. He coughed a dry, short cough, an' groans out between his set teeth. "It 's my heart; I got a bum pump. You tell George Jordan that I never breathed a word of it, but that Jack Whitman--Oh, my God! Get me a drink of whiskey! Get me a drink of hell-fire!"