"You're right that John has caught the old man's interest. He has made a showing that tickled the old dog, but I knew that he wouldn't go far! I knew he'd make some fool break and have to be satisfied with being a rich man's son in the flesh—and not before the courts—when Luke dies."
"Phil!"
"Listen, Marcia! A new will is ready to be drawn. John is cut off with an annuity—about enough to keep a teamster and his wife in want. I'm to be named as administrator. I'm to control the Luke Taylor millions! It's a big job; it'll be a fat job!"
He had both her arms in his hands then, gripping their firm flesh. She drew back, alarm in her face—all but the eyes, which were steady and cool and calculating
"I used to think he was simply shiftless. I never imagined he was a nut! Do you want to marry a man and live on ideals? Do you want to tie yourself to a worthless kid or an improvident dreamer? Do you want to do that?"
"Phil, what are you saying—"
"I'm saying this," he muttered fiercely, bending close to her. "I'm saying that is it Phil Rowe and not John Taylor who will be able to give you the things you want? Oh, don't deny it! I know you, Marcia, your impulses, your desires! I know that a man must bid high for your love. I know you want not comfort but luxury, not position but independence.
"Until now I haven't figured with you much. Until now I've been Luke Taylor's bookkeeper, but I've been a good bookkeeper—I've gotten closer to him than his son ever did, than his son ever can now. I'll have a chunk of the estate for my—loyalty," with fine irony.
