“Not on your life,” Matt retorted. “I'll commit murder for 'em, but not for their own sakes, but for sake of what they'll get me. That's the difference. Women want the jools for themselves, an' I want the jools for the women an' such things they'll get me.”
“Lucky that men an' women don't want the same things,” Jim remarked.
“That's what makes commerce,” Matt agreed; “people wantin' different things.”
In the middle of the afternoon Jim went out to buy food. While he was gone, Matt cleared the table of the jewels, wrapping them up as before and putting them under the pillow. Then he lighted the kerosene stove and started to boil water for coffee. A few minutes later, Jim returned.
“Most surprising,” he remarked. “Streets, an' stores, an' people just like they always was. Nothin' changed. An' me walking along through it all a millionaire. Nobody looked at me an' guessed it.”
Matt grunted unsympathetically. He had little comprehension of the lighter whims and fancies of his partner's imagination.
“Did you get a porterhouse?” he demanded.
“Sure, an' an inch thick. It's a peach. Look at it.”
He unwrapped the steak and held it up for the other's inspection. Then he made the coffee and set the table, while Matt fried the steak.
“Don't put on too much of them red peppers,” Jim warned. “I ain't used to your Mexican cookin'. You always season too hot.”