“There’s jest one simple question I want to ast you,” Mr. Tuttle said. “S’pose a man’s been drinkin’ a little; well, he can git along with a horse all right—like as not a horse’ll take him right on back home to the stable—but where’s one o’ _them_ things liable to take him?” “Jail,” Bojus suggested. “Yes, sir, or right over the bank into some creek, maybe. I don’t want nothin’ to do with ’em, and that’s what I says from the first. I don’t want nothin’ to do with ’em, I says, and I’ve stuck to it.” Here he was interrupted by a demand upon his attention, for his cigarette had become too short to be held with the fingers; he inhaled a final breath of smoke and tossed the tiny fragment away. “I own one of ’em, though,” he said lightly. At this the eyes of Bojus widened. “You own automobile, Mist’ Tuttle?” “Yes, I got a limousine.” “What!” Bojus cried, and stared the more incredulously. “You got a limousine? Whur you got it?” “I got it,” Mr. Tuttle replied coldly. “That’s enough fer me. I got it, but I don’t go around in it none.” “What you _do_ do with it?” “I use it,” said Tuttle, with an air of reticence. “I got my own use fer it. I don’t go showin’ off like some men.” Bojus was doubtful, yet somewhat impressed, and his incredulous expression lapsed to a vagueness. “No,” he said. “Mighty nice to ride roun’ in, though. I doe’ know where evabody git all the money. Money ain’t come knockin’ on Bojus’ do’ beggin’ ‘Lemme in, honey!’ No, suh; the way money act with me, it act like it think I ain’ goin’ use it right. Money act like I ain’t its lovin’ frien’!” He laughed, and Mr. Tuttle smiled condescendingly. “Money don’t amount to so much, Bojus,” he said. “Anybody can make money!” “They _kin_?” “Why, you take a thousand dollars,” said Tuttle; “and you take and put it out at compound interest; jest leave it lay and go on about your business—why, it’ll pile up and pile up, you can’t stop it. You know how much it’d amount to in twenty-five years? More than a million dollars.” “Whur all that million dolluhs come from?” “It comes from the poor,” said Mr. Tuttle solemnly. “That’s the way all them rich men git their money, gougin’ the poor.” “Well, suh,” Bojus inquired reasonably, “what about me? I like git rich, too. Whur’s some poor I kin go gouge? I’m willin’ to do the gougin’ if I kin git the money.” “Money ain’t everything,” his friend reminded him. “Some day the people o’ this country’s goin’ to raise and take all that money away from them rich robbers. What _right_ they got to it? That’s what I want to know. We’re goin’ to take it and divide it among the people that need it.” Bojus laughed cheerfully. “Tell Bojus when you goin’ begin dividin’! _He_ be on han’!” “Why, anybody could have all the money he wants, any time,” Tuttle continued, rather inconsistently. “Anybody could.” “How anybody goin’ git it?” “I didn’t say anybody _was_ goin’ to; I said anybody _could_.” “How could?”