Grieved at the injustice of life, Mr. Rawn turned his troubled face and gazed out over the unexpressive expanse of water. Laura Rawn said nothing at the time, being a woman of large self-control. At length she laid a gentle hand upon her husband's shoulder. "Why, John," said she, "I'd go to New York, if it was for the best. You ought to know that I have your interests at heart--really, you ought to know that, John. I don't want to hinder you, not the least in the world, John." "But you _do_ hinder me. You make me feel as though you were not in the game with me, that you were holding back all the time. I'm going a fast gait. I'm a rising man; but you ought to be in my company. A man doesn't like to feel that he's all alone in the world!" "Why, John! Why, _John_!" But he never caught the poignant anguish of her tone. "Why don't people come here to see you?" he demanded. "It's like a morgue. And by the time this place is done it'll cost pretty near another quarter of a million." "John!" she gasped. "Where will you get it?" He turned and waved at her an aggressive finger. "I made it!" said he, "and I'll make it. I made a clean sixty-eight thousand dollars, to-day, with a turn of my wrist. I'll make the price of this house in another two years, if all goes well. When it starts, it comes fast. There's nothing grows like money. It rolls up like a snowball--for a few men; and I'm one of the few! It's easy picking for strong men in the business world of America to-day--the game's framed up for them, when they get in. And one of these days I'm going in further. We'll see a life which will make all this"--he swept a wide hand about him--"look like thirty cents." His pendulous lower lip trembled in emotion, precisely as might that of his father have trembled when he addressed assembled and unrepentant gatherings of sinners. "Well, John," said Laura Rawn, dropping into a chair and crossing her hands in her lap, "you've done a lot for me, that's sure, more than I have had any right in the world to expect. I can't do much. I'm only going to try just all I can to keep up with you. But now let's not bother or worry any more about things. Supper is just about ready." "Dinner, you mean. _Dinner_, Mrs. Rawn!" She flushed a trifle. "As I meant, dinner, yes. You'll have time to dress for dinner, if you like, but I wish you wouldn't, John. I don't mean to. The truth is, I had the cook make to-night something you used to be very fond of in the old days--a pot roast--shoulder of pork with cabbage. Somehow, it seemed to me that we wouldn't want to dress up just for that, John." "My God, no!" The suffering John Rawn fell into a chair and dropped his face between his hands, shaking his head from side to side. "Isn't it all right, John?" she asked anxiously "What else should I get?" "Leave it to the cook, Laura--I mean the chef. That's what he's _paid_ for. Is there anything too good for us?"