MRS. AUSTIN. [Wildly.] Oh, spare me!
JIM. I told you it wouldn't be a pretty story. Do you think maybe you wouldn't take to drink if you saw a sight like that? [Sinking back.] Since then I've looked for work, but I haven't cared much. Only sometimes I've thought I'd like to meet that young lawyer...
MRS. AUSTIN. [Starting up.] Oh!
JIM. Yes, it all began with him. But I don't know... they'd only jug me. Anyway, tonight I was sitting in a saloon with two fellows that I had met. One of them was a second-story man... a fellow that climbs up porches and fire-escapes. And I heard him telling about a haul he'd made, and I said to myself: "There's a job for me... I'll be a second-story man." And I tried it... but you see I didn't do very well. I'm not good for much, I guess, any more.
AUSTIN. [Enters left, revolver in hand; stands watching, unobserved.] Good heavens!
MRS. AUSTIN. You can't tell. You may have better success than you look for.
JIM. No... there's nothing can help me. I'm for the scrap heap.
MRS. AUSTIN. [Eagerly.] Wait and see. You are a man... you can be helped yet...
AUSTIN. [Coming forward.] What does this mean?
JIM. [Starts wildly and reaches for revolver.] Ha!