“I understand then—­you are in business alliance with men who are starving these people into submission, and you are afraid to help them?  Afraid to feed the poor!” The far-off, wondering look came again to his face.  “The world is organized!” he said, to himself.  “There is a mob of masters!  What can I do to save the people?”

T-S was unchanged in his cheerful good-nature.  “You give dem a tousand dollars and you help a lot.  Nobody can do it all.”

But Carpenter was not satisfied; he shook his head, sadly.  “Please take this,” he said, and pressed the roll of bills back into the hands of the astounded magnate!

XXIX

However, T-S had come there to get something that day, and I thought I knew what it was.  He swallowed his consternation, and all the rest of his emotions.  “Now, now, Mr. Carpenter!  Ve ain’t a-goin’ to quarrel about a ting like dat.  Dem fellers is hungry, and de money vill give dem vun good feed.  Ve git somebody to bring it to dem, and we be friends shoost de same.  Billy, maybe you could give it, hey?”

I drew back with a laugh.  “You don’t get me into your quarrels!”

“Vell,” said T-S—­and suddenly he had an inspiration.  “I know.  I git Mary Magna to give it!  She’s a voman!”

Carpenter turned with sudden wonder.  “Then women are permitted to have hearts?”

“Shoost so, Mr. Carpenter!  Ha, ha, ha!  Ve business fellers—­my Gawd, if you knew vot business is, you’d vunder we got hearts enough to keep our blood movin’.”

“Business,” said Carpenter, still pondering.  “Then it’s business—­”

“Yes, business—­” put in T-S.  “Dat’s it!” And he lowered his voice, and looked round once more.  “It’s time we vas talkin’ business now!  Mr. Carpenter, I be frank vit you, I put all my cards on de table.  I seen de papers shoost now, vot vunderful tings you do—­healin’ de sick and quellin’ de mobs and all dat—­and I tink I gotta raise my offer, Mr. Carpenter.  If you sign a contract I got here in my pocket, I pay you a tousand dollars a veek.  Vot you say, my friend?”

Carpenter did not say anything, and so the magnate began to expatiate upon the artistic triumphs he would achieve.  “I make such a picture fer you as de vorld never seen before.  You can do shoost vot you vant in dat story—­all de tings you like to do, and nuttin’ you didn’t like.  I never said dat to no man before, but I know you now, Mr. Carpenter, and all I ask you is to heal de sick and quell de mobs, shoost like today.  I pledge you my vord—­I put it in de contract if you say so—­I make nuttin’ but Bible pictures.”

“That is very kind of you, Mr. T-S, and I thank you for the compliment; but I fear you will have to get some one else to play my part.”

Said T-S:  “I vant you to tink, Mr. Carpenter, vot it vould mean if you had a tousand dollars every week.  You could feed all de babies of de strikers.  I vouldn’t care vot you did—­you could feed my own strikers, ven I git some at Eternal City.  A tousand dollars a veek is an awful pile o’ money to have!”