"Well, I'll tell you. There's wealth, luxury, everything here. Where did they get it? They took more than their share." "Now you're talking like a Socialist. Mr. Rawn tells me you are a Socialist, Charley." "I don't believe I am. But I believe a good many would be if they'd gone through what I have. Now, what those two took, they took from me--what you've got here you got from me. I don't mind that. The big trouble is--the wrong premise about it is--that what they took they took from this people, this country. And there are so many who even are hungry." "Oh, we'd never get done if we began that way! All success does that way, you know that. Not all can be rich." Her eyes still came about to him. "Yes, all success succeeds--until that wrong premise comes out. Then there's trouble!" III "Are you going to sell us out, Charley?" she demanded suddenly. "I never sold out anybody. I'm the one that's been sold out." "Aren't we your real friends?" "No. You ought to be, but you aren't. The only friends I've got are over there in the factory--Jim and Ann Sullivan, Tim Carney--a few of the working-men that stuck it through. They've killed five men for us over there. Their sluggers are out all the time. As for me, I don't fit in, either there or here. Look here, Mrs. Rawn," he went on, turning upon her suddenly and placing his hand impulsively on hers. "Let me tell you something. I haven't sold out--I'm not going to. Where do you stand yourself?" Her eyelids fluttered. "Charley," said she, "you know better than to ask me that." "Yes, I suppose I do," he answered slowly and bitterly. "You stand for this place, for everything that money can buy. Have they made you happy? I often wonder--does money really make people happy? Are you happy?" His eyes were very somber, very direct. "I wonder if I am," said she suddenly; "and I wonder how you dare ask me. Oh, I'll admit to you I've been ambitious, and always will be. But do you know, some time I'd like to talk with your friend--with Ann Sullivan!" "_Then_ you'd begin to get at life. You'd be getting down to premises, then, that aren't wrong--with Ann Sullivan and her sort!" "What do you mean?" "Oh, well, I reckon you'd only find a little sincerity and honesty, and, well--maybe--love, that's all. Just the things I didn't get myself. Have you?" "Why didn't you?" She ignored his brutal query. "Because I'm a theorist. Because I'm a visionary and a fool, I reckon. Because I like to see fair play even in a dog fight, and the people of this country aren't getting fair play. Because I'm the sort of fool that Mr. Rawn isn't. There's the difference! "Are you happy, Mrs. Rawn?" again he demanded suddenly, since she still was silent. "Tell me the truth. I think you know I'm not going to talk. I'm going away somewhere--anyhow for the summer. I suppose, maybe, this is the last time I'll ever see you--in all my life."