"The root of all evil," he resumed after a little. "Well, but you've got to have it—can't get along without it in this world. You've done well, you say?"
Harber nodded.
"Well, so should I have, if the cursed fever had let me alone. In another year or so I'd have been raking in the coin. And now here I am—busted—done—;—fini, as the French say. I burned the candle at both ends—and got just what was coming to me, I suppose. But how could I let go, just when everything was coming my way?"
"I know," said Harber. "But unless you can use it——"
"You're right there. Not much in it for me now. Still, the medicos say a cold winter back home will…. I don't know. Sometimes I don't think I'll last to….
"Where's the use, you ask, Harber? You ask me right now, and I can't tell you. But if you'd asked me before I got like this, I could have told you quick enough. With some men, I suppose, it's just an acquisitive nature. With me, that didn't cut any figure. With me, it was a girl. I wanted to make the most I could for her in the shortest time. A girl … well…."
Harber nodded. "I understand. I came out for precisely the same reason myself," he remarked.
"You did?" said Barton, looking at him sadly. "Well, luck was with you, then. You look so—so damned fit! You can go back to her … while I … ain't it hell? Ain't it?" he demanded fiercely. "Yes," admitted Harber, "it is. But at the same time, I'm not sure that anything's ever really lost. If she's worth while——"
Barton made a vehement sign of affirmation.
"Why, she'll be terribly sorry for you, but she won't care," concluded Harber. "I mean, she'll be waiting for you, and glad to have you coming home, so glad that…."