“You see, it's just this way. George's folks was getting down pretty close to the boards, and they was the rent coming, and George he had his week's pay, but it wasn't enough, so I just told him”--very patronizing here, was Jimmie, as became a young capitalist who had once clasped the hand of Captain Anson--“I told him to give it to me and I'd put it up on the Washington game, with a little wad of my own. It was an easy mark, 'cause the Washingtons were tail-enders, and I had hold of their mascot, and he was willing to put up even. It was like taking the money out of his pocket, but a man can't throw away a chance like that--and then I'll be damned if Billy Connors didn't up and throw the game.” “He's a hell of a pitcher,” was George's comment, spoken with a sidelong glance at Halloran. “Never you mind,” said Jimmie, “Watson 'll never sign him again, after a trick like that.” Rather an interesting situation this--an odd confusing of good motives with bad--an amusing symptom of good feeling in speculator Jimmie, to be taking up the support of a young man who had been ruined through his advice. He would doubtless get over it as he grew older. If every man were to feel the same responsibility, what a wreck it would make of our institutions! What a scrambling there would be in Wall Street, in La Salle Street! Incipient socialism this--a bad thing, very bad! Halloran nodded and smiled a little. “I know,” he said. “We're all of us likely to fall down now and then. I don't know as I should have done just that, though. A man can't afford to gamble unless he can afford to lose; and there aren't many such men. I'm not sure there are any.” He smiled again--he knew just how George felt, just about what he was thinking behind that clouded face. “But now the question is, how are we going to fix you up again? You can't stay here. How much did you lose?” Again it was Jimmie that answered, “Three fifty.” Halloran thought for a moment, doing some sums in his head; then he took a purse from his pocket and counted out the money. “Now, George,” he said, “this is a loan. I know you're square, and I'm willing to take your word for it. There is no hurry; but some day, when you feel you can, you may pay it back. We needn't either of us say anything about it.” George's expression was changing every moment; but he took the money. “Suppose we go back to the house now, George. You will find your mother and sister mighty glad to see you. And Miss Davies is waiting at the Settlement to hear about you. She has worried a good deal. Then Monday we will see if we can't get the factory to give you another trial.” George's armour was not proof against such an attack as this. He got up, put the story in his pocket, and lighted Halloran and Jimmie along the passage with his candle; then he snuffed it out and put it in his pocket, threw the bottle into the river and followed the two others up the stairway to the street. CHAPTER IV--The End of the Beginning