Young Jess, too, had pulled the splendid vision down to his dull understanding. Young Jess, low-browed, sullen, would like to throw the gold with both hands into the lap of brutish gratifications. Young Jess was a gambler by nature, Rawley gleaned. He must never be let loose in a town, because he would have to be hauled out in a drunken torpor, his pockets empty, his credit strained, his soul fresh blotted by vice. Young Jess had “sprees”; from Gladys Rawley learned that. So Young Jess was kept on a leash of family watchfulness. “When we make our big clean-up,” Gladys confided from the bench on the screened porch, her baby nursing desultorily in its sleep, “Jess has gotta give me half of his share fast as he rakes it in. I’m going to have Peter see’t he does that--or we’ll be broke ag’in in no time. I’m going to put it where he can’t git his fingers on it to gamble, you bet! And he runs with women--that sure makes the money fly! But I guess they’ll be two of us, at that!” she tittered. “I ain’t so old yet I can’t git up some speed--give me some decent clothes and di’mon’s. I’m going to Salt Lake, an’ I’m going to have me the biggest car they is on the market. My folks is got a car, down to Needles--” Anita,--Rawley was long in learning what was Anita’s bright, particular vision. One day he asked her outright, since he could not lead her to talk about her expectations in a general way. And straightway he was humbled and ashamed. Anita looked at him stolidly, turned her great bulk and stared down at the river hurrying by in the midday sunlight. She lifted a hand to her eyes and stared out from beneath the flat of her brown palm. “Gol’--if it can buy me back--t’ings I have love’--t’ings I have los’ long time ago,” she murmured. “Gol’--it don’t buy young body--pretty face--voice to sing like a bird. Gol’ don’t give back my girl--modder of Nevada. Pah-h!” She spat at the river contemptuously. “W’at I care for gol’?” Nevada,--to her the dream was a splendid vision indeed. To her it was achievement--success--the open door through which she might pass to a glorified future. Nevada, when pressed, admitted that she loved pretty things--“And then, the world is so full of people who want to be helped!” Rawley nodded. “I know. I’ve felt that.” “And if there is gold to be had, so that they can be helped, I think it’s wicked not to use every ounce of energy we possess to get it, so that we can use it,” she declared with more enthusiasm than Rawley had ever seen her show. “When it’s fought for, just for sake of self-indulgence, it ought to be fought for in the interests of good. I’d found a home for--well, almost anybody that needed it. And I want so to travel, Fifth Cousin! I don’t mean to spend more than two or three millions, just myself. I’m afraid I might grow reckless and extravagant. So I shall only hold out three million, at the most, for my own personal needs. The rest I shall give away.” Whereupon she laughed at him.