peaceably, if we can't get them any other way. We are goin' to prove
that a man is better than a moneybag." He rattled off these words as a
listless child says its alphabet without thinking of a letter. But he
was closely watching Sam to see if any of these stereotyped phrases
attracted his attention. Sleeny smoked his cigar with the air of polite
fatigue with which one listens to abstract statements of moral
obligations.

"What are we, anyhow?" continued the greasy apostle of labor. "We are
slaves; we are Roosian scurfs. We work as many hours as our owners
like; we take what pay they choose to give us; we ask their permission
to live and breathe."

"Oh, that's a lie!" Sleeny interrupted, with unbroken calmness. "Old
Saul Matchin and me come to an agreement about time and pay, and both
of us was suited. Ef he's got his heel onto me, I don't feel it"

Offitt darted a glance of scorn upon the ignoble soul who was content
with his bondage; but the mention of Matchin reminded him that he had a
final shot in reserve, and he let it off at once.

"Yes, Saul Matchin is a laborin' man himself; but look at his daughter.
She would die before she would marry a workman. Why?" and his green
eyes darted livid fire as they looked into the troubled ones of Sleeny.

"Well, why?" he asked, slowly.

"Because she loves money more than manhood. Because she puts up her
beauty for a higher bidder than any------"