Evan did so, thinking: "I wouldn't be like you for all your millions!"
Deaves went on: "Keep everlastingly at it! That's my motto. That's what's brought me to where I am to-day. I've retired now—though I still have my irons in the fire—but when I was your age I worked early and late. I didn't waste my time fooling round like young men do. No, sir! My only thought was how to turn everything to advantage. I denied myself everything; lived on two bits a day, I did, and put my savings to work. The cents and the dollars are good and willing little servants if you make them work for you. I watched 'em grow and grow. That was my young man's fun."
Evan looking at him thought: "You are an object-lesson all right, old man, but not just the way you think."
The current of Deaves' thoughts changed. "You're a strong boy," he said, with a glance at Evan's stout frame. He felt of his biceps through the thin coat. "Hm!" he said scornfully. "I suppose you're proud of your strength. I suppose you spend the best part of your days exercising. Waste of time! Waste of time! A strong man never comes to anything. They're simple, mostly. It's the head that counts! How many of those ruffians did you knock down?"
"Not any," said Evan carelessly. "They ducked."
"Well, you're a good boy. You stick to me, and I'll show you something better than messing in colours. I'll show you how to make money!"
CHAPTER II
A RICH MAN'S HOUSE
They rode up to Fifty-Ninth street, and transferring to a cross-town car, got off at the Plaza. Evan's subconsciousness registered the fact that the little fellow in grey was still travelling their way, but he took no particular notice of him. Deaves led the way to one of the magnificent mansions that embellish the neighbourhood. He handed his bundle to Evan.