"I want sixty millions," said Slade abruptly. "Will I get it?" He shrugged his shoulders, and taking a knife balanced it in seesaw on his finger, letting it finally drop with an exclamation of impatience. "That’s the danger—the getting of it. I may have it in two years more and then again—" He opened his hand as though flinging sand in the air, and added: "In a week it may be over. _Rouge et noir_—one bad turn at the beginning and Napoleon Bonaparte would have been shot as a conspirator. Up to the present, I’ve been living the first period—afterward I’ll justify it; I’ll build." "In what way?" said Mrs. Kildair, who, while following his brutal exposition with the tribute instinctive to force, was nevertheless aware that this unusual revelation of himself had likewise a trifling object—the over-awing of the younger rival. "Railroads—a great system—an empire in itself," said Slade; and there came in his eyes a flash of the enthusiast which surprised her. But, unwilling to enlarge on this topic, he continued: "What I’ve said sounds raw, doesn’t it? So it is. If I do what I want, I justify myself. There are only two classes of human beings—those like you two here, who get through life with the most pleasure you can, who get through—pass through; and then a few, a handful, who create something—an empire, like Rhodes, invent a locomotive or a system of electric production, add something to human history. What if they steal, or grind out the lives of others? They’re the only ones who count. And the public knows it—it forgives everything to greatness; it’s only petty crime it hates. Look at the sympathy a murderer gets on trial—look at the respect a great manipulator gets. Why? Because to murder and steal are natural human instincts. A couple of thousand years ago, it was a praiseworthy act for one ancestor, who coveted a hide or a cave that another ancestor had, to go out and kill him. All animals steal by instinct. We are only badly educated animals, and we admire in others what we don’t dare do ourselves. Only succeed—succeed! Ah, there is the whole of it!" At this moment the telephone rang, and Slade rose and went to it with a little more emotion than he usually showed. "Is this the cause of his outburst?" thought Mrs. Kildair, while she and Beecher instinctively remained silent. At the end of a short moment, Slade returned. The two observers, who glanced at him quickly, could not find the slightest clue of what had transpired. Only he seemed more composed. "Speaking of stealing, take the case of the ring," he said, relaxing in a chair. "We know this—incredible as it may seem—that there were at least two thieves in the company; as a matter of fact, there were many more. My own opinion is that the crime was not an ordinary one—that whoever took it the second time took it out of an uncontrollable spirit of bravado, an overpowering impulse to do an almost impossible thing."