He led the way down a narrow dark alley, along which they had fairly to grope their way. It debouched, however, into the forgotten centre of the square. All the edges had been built close with brick stores, warehouses, and office buildings. But in the very middle had been left a waste piece of ground, occupied only by a garden and a low one-room abode, with a veranda and a red-tiled roof. Under the moonlight and the black shadows from the modern buildings it slept amid its bright flowers with the ancient air of another world. Krafft turned a key and lighted a lamp. Keith found himself in a small, neat room, with heavy beams, fireplace, and deep embrasured windows. An iron bed, two chairs, a table, a screen, a shelf of books, and a wardrobe were its sole furnishings. In the fireplace had been laid, but not lighted, a fire of sagebrush roots. Krafft touched a match to the roots, which instantly leaped into eager and aromatic flames. From a shelf he took a new clay pipe which he handed to Keith. "Tobacco is in that jar," he said. He himself filled and lighted a big porcelain pipe with wexelwood stem. "What would you do about it?" asked Keith, continuing the discussion. "What would you most want, if you were those poor men?" retorted Krafft, blowing a huge cloud. Keith laughed. "Drink, food, clothes, bed," he stated succinctly. "And work wherewith to get them," supplemented Krafft. Keith laughed again. "Not if I know their sort! Work is the one thing they _don't_ want." Krafft leaned forward, and tapped the table with one of his long forefingers. "The lazy part of them, the earthen part of them, the dross of them--yes, perhaps. But let us concede to them a spark that smoulders, way down deep within them--a spark of which they think they are ashamed, which they do not themselves realize the existence of except occasionally. What is the deep need of them? It is to feel that they are still of use, that they amount to something, that they are men. That more than mere food and warmth. Is it not so?" "I believe you're right," said Keith, impressed. "Then," said Krafft triumphantly, "it _is_ work they want, work that is useful and worth paying for." "But there's plenty of work to be had," objected Keith, after a moment. "In fact, there's more work in this town than there are men to do it." "True, But it is the hard work these men have failed at. It is too hard. They try; they are discouraged; they fall again, and perhaps they never get up. Such men must be led, must be watched, must be stopped within their strength." "Who's there to do that sort of dry nursing of bums?" demanded Keith with a half laugh. "He who would help," said Krafft quietly. They smoked for some time in silence; then Keith arose to go. "It is a big idea; it requires thought," said he ruminatively. "You are a recent arrival, Mr. Krafft? What is your line of activity?" The slight, elegant little man smiled.