the toil of others, but never toils himself, any better than the vulture
that feeds upon the animals killed by others? Isn't the gambler a
parasite, pure and simple? On whose lifeblood does the gambler feed,
unless it's on yours?"

Tom continued his harangue, becoming more and more intense, yet carrying
his talk along in all simplicity, and with a directness that made scores
of the workmen look sheepish.

"Whenever you find a man anywhere who professes to be working for your
good, or for your amusement, and who gets all the benefit in the end,
why don't you open your eyes to him?" Tom inquired presently. "Over in
Paloma there are saloon keepers who are cleaning up their dives and
opening new lots of liquor that they feel sure they're going to sell you
to-night. These dive keepers are ready to welcome you with open arms,
and they'll try to make you feel that you're royal good fellows and that
they are the best friends you have in the world. Yet, to-morrow
morning, how will the property be divided? The keepers of these saloons
and Jim Duff will have all your money and what will you have?"

Tom paused, whipping out a white handkerchief that he deftly bound
around his head, meanwhile looking miserable.

"That's what you men will have--and that's all that you'll have left,"
croaked the young chief engineer dismally. "Now, friends, is the game
worth a candle of that sort? How many of you have money in the bank?
Let every man here who has put up his hand. Not one of you? Who's
keeping your money in bank for you? Jim Duff and the sellers of
poisons? Will they ever hand your money back to you? Some of you men
have dear ones at home. If one of these dear ones sends a hurried,