the way a feller gits his start. I 'member Dan. He always wore a wool shirt till he went East. He come back White Collar Dan! Some fellers is jes' lucky. Some says they ain't no luck, but I know! Somebody was jes' bound to git Storit, with all them sparklers—and it were Dan. He knowed 'nough to take 'vantage of what he got to know, tradin' with them down-East fences. Dan's a big gun now. He ain't neveh been caught right out. He was two years in Joliet, an' two-three months on Blackwells, is all. I seen 'im down on the coast three-four years ago. Had a long talk with him.
"'What I'm afteh,' he said, 'is a big stake. Then me for investments. Hit's only a notion, fellers wantin' a lot of money. S'pose a man could git three-four thousand a year? Why, he could live into his gasolene an' eat 'nough, an' live!' That's the way Dan put hit. He 'lowed 'f 'e could get fifty thou', he'd live right, an' square."
"Yas, suh," Frest admitted, thoughtfully, "on'y a damned fool couldn't get to live off'n three-four thousand comfortable. He'd have to have an awful 'stravagant wife to spend more'n that. Course, if a man gambles er she dresses like the devil hit'd take a heap more'n that!"
"Oh, if you goin' to count a woman in." Macrado tossed his head.
