“Money!” she said. “Money! I think I would give my very soul for money!”
Of course, I knew she didn’t mean that. But Dr. Letheny shot her a glance that fairly pierced the dusk, Corole laughed a little metallic ripple, and Jim Gainsay turned straightway around in his chair to face Maida’s shadowed eyes.
“I haven’t any money,” he said directly and quite as if Maida had asked him a question, though I think the others were too preoccupied to observe this. “I haven’t any money at all.”
“And are you happy without it, Jim?” asked Corole, her warm voice caressing.
“Well . . .” Jim Gainsay paused. “I was, until lately.”
He was still speaking to Maida. I believe Dr. Letheny understood that somewhat singular fact, also, for he spoke so quietly that there was a suggestion of deliberate restraint about his words.
“And what do you intend to do in the face of this sudden realization?”
“Make some money,” replied Jim Gainsay simply.
Dr. Letheny laughed—not pleasantly.
“But my dear fellow, is it so simple as that?”