"It ain't anything in particular," said Murk. "It's just general."
"I see. A drifter, are you?"
"I reckon I am."
"Sore at existence, eh?"
"Well, what's the use of livin'?" Murk demanded. "There ain't a man, woman or child in the world that gives a whoop what becomes of me. I'm just in the way to be kicked around."
"Maybe you haven't found your proper place in the scheme of things."
"I've sure done some travelin' lookin' for it, boss, but maybe I ain't found it, as you say. I sure ain't found any place that looks like it needed me bad."
"Hard to make a living?"
"Oh, I get along. But, what's the use?" Murk wanted to know. "I ain't got anybody—I get lonesome lots of times. If I had money, it might be different."
"I'm not so sure about that," said Prale, smiling a bit. "I've got a million dollars, and, as far as I know right this minute, I have just one friend in New York."