"That's like you, Sandy," he cried. "It's sure like you. But I tell you Zip's a man, an' a great big man to the marrer of his small backbone. His luck's rotten. Rotten every ways. He's stuck on his wife, an' she's gone off with a tough like James. He works so he comes nigh shamin' even me, who hates work, on a claim that couldn't show the color o' gold on it, if ther' wa'an't nothin' to the earth but gold. He's jest got two notions in his silly head. It's his kids an' his wife. Mackinaw! It makes me sick. It does sure. Here's us fellers without a care to our souls, while that pore sucker's jest strugglin' an' strugglin' an' everythin's wrong with him--wrong as--oh, hell!" For once Sandy forgot his malicious jibe at the loafer's expense. And Toby, too, forgot his pleasantry. Sunny's outburst of feeling had struck home, and each man stood staring thoughtfully at the mental picture he had conjured for them. Each admitted to himself in his own way the pity the other's words had stirred, but none of them had anything to add at the moment. Sunny glanced from one to the other. His look was half questioning and wholly angry. He glanced across at the window and thrust his hands in his ragged trousers pockets. And presently as he began to tap the floor with his foot a fresh rush of fiery anger was mounting to his head. He opened his lips as though about to continue his tirade, but apparently changed his mind. And, instead, he drew a dollar bill from his pocket, and flung it on the counter. "Three more drinks," he demanded roughly. Minky in unfeigned surprise produced the glasses. Sandy leant over, and, with face thrust forward, inspected the bill. Toby contented himself with a low whistle of astonishment. Sunny glared at them contemptuously. "Yes," he said roughly, "I've earned it. I've worked for it, do you understand? Wild Bill set me to look after Zip's kids, an' he's paid me for it. But--but that money burns--burns like hell, an' I want to be quit of it. Oh, I ain't bug on no sort o' charity racket, I'm jest about as soft as my back teeth. But I'm mad--mad to git busy doin' anythin' so we ken git Zip level with that low-down skunk, James. An' if ther's fi' cents' worth o' grit in you, Mister Sandy Joyce, an' an atom o' savvee in your fool brain, Toby, you'll take a hand in the game." Minky looked on in silent approval. Anything directed against James was bound to meet with his approval just now. But Sandy cleared his throat, and lounged with his back against the counter. "An' wot, I'd ast, is goin' to hurt this tough?" he inquired, with a dash of his usual sarcasm. Sunny flew at his drink and gulped it down. "How do I know?" he cried scornfully. "Jest so." Toby grinned. "You're a bright one, Sunny. You're so bright, you dazzle my eyes," he cried. But Sunny was absorbed in a thought that was hazily hovering in the back of his brain, and let the insult pass.