"I shouldn't have thought suicide was in your line," Curtis remarked.
"More Matt's. I should have credited you with something more
original."

"Original!" Hamar snarled. "I defy any man to be original when he
hasn't a cent, and his stomach contains nothing but air. Give me
money, give me food--then, perhaps, I'll be original."

"You don't mean to say you're cleared out of grub!" Kelson and Curtis
cried in chorus. "We've come to you as our last hope. We've neither of
us tasted anything since yesterday."

"Then you'll taste nothing again to-day--at least as far as I'm
concerned," Hamar jeered. "I tell you I'm broke--haven't as much as a
crumb in the room; and I've pawned everything, save the clothes you
see me in!"

"And yet you can buy books--unless--unless you stole it!" Curtis said,
eyeing with suspicion the volume Hamar had thrown on the table.

"Buy it! Not much!" Hamar cried quickly. "It's one I've had all my
life. Belonged to my grandfather. I took it with me to-night to see
what I could raise on it."

"And no one would have it? I should guess not," Kelson said, drawing
it towards him. "Why it's got a new label inside--S. Leipman! I know
him. He's slick even for a Jew. This looks as if it belonged to your
grandfather, Leon. If I'm not real mistaken you bought the book
to-night. There's something in it you thought you could make capital
of. Trust you for that. Now I wonder what it was!"