"But he has to have ability, too," I objected.

"Sure, he has to have ability, but his feeling is the driving power if he
feels strong enough, he can make a little ability go a long way."

I was struck by the force of this remark. I scarcely recognized Judd
Jason. The man, as he revealed himself, had become at once more sinister
and more fascinating.

"I can guess how some of those Jacobins felt when they had the
aristocrats in the dock. They'd got on top--the Jacobins, I mean. It's
human nature to want to get on top--ain't it?" He looked at me and
smiled, but he did not seem to expect a reply. "Well, what you call
society, rich, respectable society like you belong to would have made a
bum and a criminal out of me if I hadn't been too smart for 'em, and it's
a kind of satisfaction to have 'em coming down here to Monahan's for
things they can't have without my leave. I've got a half Nelson on 'em. I
wouldn't live up on Grant Avenue if you gave me Scherer's new house."

I was silent.

"Instead of starting my career in college, I started in jail," he went
on, apparently ignoring any effect he may have produced. So subtly, so
dispassionately indeed was he delivering himself of these remarks that it
was impossible to tell whether he meant their application to be personal,
to me, or general, to my associates. "I went to jail when I was fourteen
because I wanted a knife to make kite sticks, and I stole a razor from a
barber. I was bitter when they steered me into a lockup in Hickory
Street. It was full of bugs and crooks, and they put me in the same cell