In the pause following Harry Randall's face went slowly red. Equally directly he met the other's look. "Pardon me, Mr. Roberts," he said, "but Mrs. Randall and myself are not exactly objects of charity yet." Darley Roberts' expression did not alter by so much as the twitching of a muscle. "That was unjustified, Mr. Randall," he said evenly, "and you know it. Let me explain a bit further. I happen to have a house, but no home. By the same chance you are able to produce the reverse. Just why should it be an offence upon my part to suggest bringing the two together--for the mutual benefit of us both?" "Why? Because it's unequal, it's patronage; and though I work for twelve hundred dollars a year, I'm still American born." "Granted--the latter remark. I'm also American born, in the remotest corner of the most God-forsaken county in--I won't name the State; I might hurt some one's feelings." Roberts' big fingers were twitching in a way they had when something he had decided to do met with opposition. "Nevertheless I hope that fact doesn't make me wholly unreasonable. When it comes to patronage, we're all patronized: you do a kindness for a friend, without remuneration, and he accepts it; that's patronage. The University gives you a position as professor, out of a dozen applicants who could do equally well, and you accept gladly. That's favoritism, another word for patronage. A client comes to me and pays a fee for doing a certain labor, when my competitor across the street would perform it equally capably, and for perhaps a smaller fee. That's patronage. You patronize your tailor when you order a suit of clothes, the butcher when you buy a beefsteak. It's the basis of life, elemental. The very air you breathe is patronage. It costs you nothing, and you give nothing adequate in return. To characterize patronage as un-American, stultifying, is preposterous. Even if it were true in this case, you'd have to give another reason for offence. I refuse to consider it." "Well, unbusinesslike then, if that is better." "Unbusinesslike? Wait. In company with three other men I'm developing a silver mine down in Arizona. The mining claim belongs to a fifth man, belongs to him absolutely. He knows the metal is there as well as we do; but it's down under the ground, locked up tight in a million tons of rock. As it is now, so far as he's concerned, it might as well be on Mars. If left to himself alone he'd live and die and it would still be there. He hasn't the ability nor the means to make it of use. The other three men and myself have. We can develop it, and will; to our own purposes, share and share alike. According to your notion there's patronage somewhere; but exactly where? Point me the offence?" Again Harry Randall caressed his bald crown. The argument was convincing, almost. "The cases are not parallel," he combated weakly, "not even similar."