resolved to go on murdering and burning and sinning because he can't get
back to where he was when he began to fall, and must go on falling or
perish. Don't you think that if I can cram that into a lump of clay I'll
make a reputation for myself?"

"I think," said Wilmot, "that if you've got that kind of a man sitting
for you, you'll need all the reputation you can get. You talk of him
with the same sort of enthusiasm that a bird would show in describing
being fascinated by a snake."

Barbara considered this judicially. "Do you know," she agreed, "it is
rather like that. He fascinates me, and at the same time I never saw a
brute I hated so. He must be wicked to deserve such pain."

"Oh, he suffers, does he?"

"Of course. Wouldn't you suffer every minute of your life if you had no
legs?"

Barbara, intent upon what was on her plate, did not perceive the sudden
astonished darkening of Wilmot Allen's face, nor that the interest which
he had hitherto only feigned in her new model had become genuine.

"What is he?"

"I was going to say 'just a beggar,'" said Barbara. "But he isn't just
a beggar. I've gathered that he's rather well off, and that he's one of
the powers on the East Side. And he looks money and power, even if he
doesn't talk them."