"Understand, I don't think it is any of your damned business! But I'm going through with you on this proposition, just to see how the land lays. Take my tip, however. Be mighty careful how you speak about the girl, if you're not looking for trouble." Paying no attention to the covert threat, Brockton went on: "How much did you say you made?" "Thirty dollars a week." The broker gave vent to a low, but expressive whistle. Elevating his eyebrows, he asked: "Do you know how much Laura could make if she took a job just on her own merits?" Madison shook his head. Impatiently he replied: "As I don't intend to share in her salary, I never took the trouble to inquire." "She'd get about forty dollars." "That laps me ten," retorted the other. Brockton persisted. "But how are you going to support her?" he demanded. "Her cabs cost more than your salary, and she pays her week's salary for an every-day walking hat. She's always had a maid. Her simplest gown flirts with a hundred dollar note. Her manicurist and her hairdresser will eat up as much as you pay for your board. She never walks when it's stormy, and every afternoon there's her ride in the park. She dines in the best places in New York, and one meal costs her more than you make in a day. Do you imagine for a moment that she's going to sacrifice these luxuries for any great length of time?" "I intend to give them to her," replied Madison promptly. "On thirty dollars a week?" "I propose to go out and make a lot of money." "How?" "I haven't decided yet, but you can bet your sweet life that if I ever try and make up my mind that it's got to be, it's got to be." Brockton looked skeptical. "Never have made it, have you?" he said. "I have never tried," replied Madison doggedly. "Then how do you know you can?" "I'm honest and energetic, that's how I know!" retorted the journalist. With a sneer he added: "If you can get great wealth the way you go along, I don't see why I can't earn a little." Puffing vigorously at his expensive perfecto, Brockton strode leisurely up and down the terrace. He spoke calmly and dispassionately, as if he personally were not in the least concerned with the subject under discussion. From his manner one might take him for an elderly brother advising a junior of life's many pitfalls. "That's where you make a mistake," he said coolly. "Money doesn't always come with brilliancy. I know a lot of fellows in New York who can paint a fine picture, write a good play, and when it comes to oratory they've got me lashed to a pole. But, somehow, they never make money. They're always in debt. They never get anything for what they do. In other words, young man, they are like a sky rocket without a stick--plenty of brilliancy, but no direction. They blow up and fizzle all over the ground." "That's in New York," interrupted Madison scornfully. "I'm in Colorado. I guess you know there is a difference." The broker shrugged his shoulders.