Edward; no, it was not he that gave a stranger twenty dollars. It is a
pity too; I see it now. . . " Then, with a shudder--"But it is GAMBLERS'
money! the wages of sin; we couldn't take it; we couldn't touch it. I
don't like to be near it; it seems a defilement." She moved to a farther
chair. . . "I wish Edward would come, and take it to the bank; a burglar
might come at any moment; it is dreadful to be here all alone with it."

At eleven Mr. Richards arrived, and while his wife was saying "I am SO
glad you've come!" he was saying, "I am so tired--tired clear out; it is
dreadful to be poor, and have to make these dismal journeys at my time of
life. Always at the grind, grind, grind, on a salary--another man's
slave, and he sitting at home in his slippers, rich and comfortable."

"I am so sorry for you, Edward, you know that; but be comforted; we have
our livelihood; we have our good name--"

"Yes, Mary, and that is everything. Don't mind my talk--it's just a
moment's irritation and doesn't mean anything. Kiss me--there, it's all
gone now, and I am not complaining any more. What have you been getting?
What's in the sack?"

Then his wife told him the great secret. It dazed him for a moment; then
he said:

"It weighs a hundred and sixty pounds? Why, Mary, it's for-ty thousand
dollars--think of it--a whole fortune! Not ten men in this village are
worth that much. Give me the paper."

He skimmed through it and said: