The other man stared. "Either you're a damned fool, or the men or the system--whatever it is that has worked you so long that you can't stop--ought to go to--" he growled. "You can't shake off a burden that's grown to you," said Henry. The worker on Henry's other side was a mere boy, but he had a bulging forehead and a square chin, and already figured in labor circles. "As soon try to shake off a hump," he said, and nodded. "Yes," said Henry. "When you've lived long enough in one sort of a world it settles onto your shoulders, and nothing but death can ease a man from the weight of it." "That's so," said the boy. "But as far as keeping the bread from another man goes--" said Henry. Then he hesitated. He was tainted by the greed for unnecessary money, in spite of his avowal to the contrary. That also had come to be a part of him. Then he continued, "As far as that goes, I'm willing to give away--a--good part of what I earn." The first man laughed, harshly. "He'll be for giving a library to East Westland next, to make up to men for having their money and freedom in his own pockets," he said. "I 'ain't got so much as all that, after all," said Henry. "Because my wife has had a little left to her, it don't follow that we are millionaires." "I guess you are pretty well fixed. You don't need to work, and you know it. You ought to be ashamed of yourself. There's my wife's brother can't get a job." "Good reason why," said the boy on the other side. "He drinks." "He drinks every time he gets out of work and gets clean discouraged," retorted the man. "Well," said the boy, "you know me well enough to know that I'm with my class every time, but hanged if I can see why your wife's brother 'ain't got into a circle that there's no getting him out of. We've got to get out of work sometimes. We all know it. We've got to if we don't want humps on all our shoulders; and if Jim can't live up to his independence, why, he's out of the running, or, rather, in his own running so neither God nor man can get him out of it. You know the time that last strike was on he was in the gutter every day, when he could beg enough money to keep him there. Now, we can't have that sort of thing. When a man's got so he can't work nor fight neither, why, he's up against it. If Henry here gave up his job, Jim couldn't get it, and you know it." Henry went on. He hardly heard now what they were saying. His mind was revelling in its free flights of rebellion against everything. Henry, for a man who kept the commandments, was again as wicked as he could be, and revelling in his wickedness. He was like a drinker returned to his cups. His joy was immense, but unholy. However, the accusation that he was taking bread from another man who needed it more than he still rankled. He could, after all, rise somewhat above mere greed. He resolved that he would give, and no one should know of his giving, to the family of the man Jim who had no work.