"Thank God! Thank God! Thank God!"
When the first flood of grateful emotion had spent itself, she looked up at Norman and said:
"You see, sir, he wasn't strong, and kept losin' his job in Chicago. We'd heard about California all our lives. We sold out everything and got enough to come. For two years we've made a hard fight, but it was no use. Jim couldn't git work. I tried and I couldn't. Folks have helped us, but he was proud. He wouldn't beg and he wouldn't let me. He wouldn't sell his gun. I think he always meant to use it that way when he got to the end, and it come yesterday when they give us notice to git out."
She staggered over to the bed and fell across the body, sobbing:
"My poor old boy. He loved me. He was always good to me. I tried to go with him. But I couldn't pull the trigger! I was afraid! I was afraid!"
When they reached the street, Barbara lifted her brown eyes to Norman's face and asked:
"What do you think of a social system that drives thousands of men to kill themselves like that?"
"To tell you the truth I never thought of it at all before."
"He would have been buried in a pauper's grave but for your help. I brought you here this morning because I knew you would save her that anguish when you understood."
"You knew I would?" he softly asked.