"No doubt. It takes a thief to catch a thief." McCaskey started. His sneer vanished. "Thief! Say--" he blustered, angrily. "D'you mean--" The clash, brief as it had been, had excited attention. Noting the fact that an audience was gathering, the speaker lowered his voice and, thrusting his black, scowling countenance closer to the cage opening, he said: "You needn't remind me of anything. I've got a good memory. Damn' good!" After a moment he turned his back and moved away. When Pierce went off shift he looked up Lars Anderson and received confirmation of the Hunker strike. Lars was in a boisterous mood and eager to share his triumph. "I knew that was a rich piece of ground," he chuckled, "and I knew I was handing those boys a good thing. But a fellow owes something to his friends, doesn't he?" "I thought you said it was low grade?" "Low grade!" Big Lars threw back his head and laughed loudly. "I never said nothing of the kind. Me knock my own ground? Why, I'd have banked my life on Hunker!" Here was luck, Pierce told himself. A fortune had been handed him on a silver platter, and he had shoved it aside. He was sick with regret; he was furious with himself for his lack of wisdom; he hated Laure for the deception she had practised upon him. The waste he had made of this opportunity bred in him a feeling of desperation. Toward the close of the show Laure found him braced against the bar; the face he turned upon her was cold, repellent. When she urged him to take her to supper he shook his head. "What's the matter?" she inquired. "Big Lars never told you Hunker was low grade," he declared. The girl flushed; she tossed her dark head defiantly. "Well, what of it?" "Simply this--Tom and Jerry and the McCaskeys have struck rich pay." "Indeed?" "You lied to me." Laure's lips parted slowly in a smile. "What did you expect? What would any girl do?" She laid a caressing hand upon his arm. "I don't care how much they make or how poor you are--" Pierce disengaged her grasp. "I care!" he cried, roughly. "I've lost my big chance. They've made their piles and I'm--well, look at me." "You blame me?" He stared at her for a moment. "What's the difference whether I blame you or myself? I'm through. I've been through for some time, but--this is curtain." "Pierce!" Impatiently he flung her off and strode out of the theater. Laure was staring blindly after him when Joe McCaskey spoke to her. "Have a dance?" he inquired. She undertook to answer, but her lips refused to frame any words; silently she shook her head. "What's the idea? A lovers' quarrel?" McCaskey eyed her curiously, then he chuckled mirthlessly. "You can come clean with me. I don't like him any better than you do." "Mind your own business," stormed the girl in a sudden fury.