"Mighty soon," replied her father. "I was ready for 'em this time—good and ready. I've sent word to the governor that I want the militia down here tomorrow——"
"Has there been a riot?" cried Jane anxiously.
"Not yet," said Hastings. He was laughing to himself. "But there will be to-night. Then the governor'll send the troops in to-morrow afternoon."
"But maybe the men'll be quiet, and then——" began Jane, sick inside and trembling.
"When I say a thing'll happen, it'll happen," interrupted her father. "We've made up our minds it's time to give these fellows a lesson. It's got to be done. A milder lesson'll serve now, where later on it'd have to be hard. I tell you these things because I want you to remember 'em. They'll come in handy—when you'll have to look after your own property."
She knew how her father hated the thought of his own death; this was the nearest he had ever come to speaking of it. "Of course, there's your brother William," he went on. "William's a good boy—and a mighty good business man—though he does take risks I'd never 'a took—not even when I was young and had nothing to lose. Yes—and Billy's honest. BUT"—the big head shook impressively—"William's human, Jenny—don't ever forget that. The love of money's an awful thing." A lustful glitter like the shine of an inextinguishable fire made his eyes fascinating and terrible. "It takes hold of a man and never lets go. To see the money pile up—and up—and up."
The girl turned away her gaze. She did not wish to see so far into her father's soul. It seemed a hideous indecency.
"So, Jenny—don't trust William, but look after your own property."
"Oh, I don't care anything about it, popsy," she cried, fighting to think of him and to speak to him as simply the living father she had always insisted on seeing.
"Yes—you do care," said Hastings sharply. "You've got to have your money, because that's your foundation—what you're built on. And I'm going to train you. This here strike's a good time to begin."