the old folks would cry over you—twenty years is a long time to stay away from the old folks—I—I never knew mine. You go on back to the little farm out there in the West where you said you'd like to go, and—and give the old people a hand for the years they've got left."
Pale Face Harry shook his head.
"God knows I'd like to," he said, choking a little; "that's what I counted on. God knows I'd like to go out there and lead a decent life—but I don't go that way—I don't crawl out and leave you—what's coming to you is coming to me."
"That won't help us any, Harry," said Madison softly, and his hand tightened in an eloquent pressure on Pale Face Harry's shoulder. "You go—and God bless you!"
Again Pale Face Harry shook his head.
"No," he said. "I stick. If the game's got you, it's got me too—to the limit. There's no use talking about that."
The Flopper licked his lips miserably.
"Swipe me!" he mumbled. "Hell wasn't never like dis! Me an' Mamie we've got it fixed, an' her old man says he'll take me inter de store. Say, Doc, say—ain't dere a chanst ter live straight now we wants ter?"
But Madison did not hear the Flopper save in a vague, inconsequential way—he was looking at Helena. She had drooped forward a little over the table, her chin in her hands, her lips quivering—and a white misery in her face seemed to bring
