"None better. It means going back to what you helped me out of—the life that nearly killed me."
"And you'd rather—"
"I'd rather that a thousand years before I'd sponge on you another day.... But, on the level, I'd as lieve try the East River or turn on the gas.... What's the use? That's the way I feel."
"That's fool talk. Brace up and be a man. All you need is a way to earn money."
"No," Duncan insisted firmly: "get it. I'll never be able to earn it—that's a cinch."
Kellogg laughed a little mirthlessly, absorbed in revolving something which had popped into his head within the last few moments. "There are ways to get it," he admitted abstractedly, "if you're not too particular."
"I'm not. I only wish I understood the burglar business."
This time Kellogg laughed outright. He sat up with a new spirit in his manner. "You mean you'd steal to get money?"
"Oh, well ..." Duncan smiled a trace sheepishly. "I can't think of anything hardly I wouldn't do to get it."
"Very well, my son. Now attend to uncle." Kellogg leaned across the table, fixing him with an enthusiastic eye. "Here, have a smoke. I'm going to demonstrate high finance to your debased intelligence." He thrust the cigarette case over to Duncan, who helped himself mechanically, his gaze held in wonder to Kellogg's face.