Patsy rose to her knees and knelt there, shaking her fist--a composite picture of supplicating Justice and accusing Truth. She had forgotten that the man before her was sick--dying; that he must have suffered terribly in spirit as well as body; and that her words were so many barbed shafts striking at his soul. She remembered nothing save the thing against which she was fighting: the hard, merciless possession of money and the arrogant boast of it.
"And you forget that the burden of trouble which the brave rich bear so nobly are troubles they've put into the world themselves. They hoard their money to buy power; and then they use that power to get more money. And so the chain grows--money and power, money and power! I heard of a rich man once who turned a terrible fever loose all over the land because he bribed the health inspectors not to close down his factories. And after death had swept his books clean he gave large sums of money to stamp out the epidemic in the near-by towns. Faith! that was grand--the bearing of that trouble! And why are the rich hated? Why do they live friendless and die lonely? Not because they hold money, not because they give it away or help others with it. No! But because they use it to crush others, to rob those who have less than they have, to turn their power into a curse. That's the why!"
Patsy, the fanatic, turned suddenly into Patsy, the human, again. The fist that had been beating the air under his nose dropped and spread itself tenderly on the sick man's knee. "But I'm sorry you're lonely. If there was anything you wanted--that you couldn't buy and I could earn for you--I would get it gladly."
"I believe you would," and the confession surprised the man himself more than it did Patsy. "Who are you?" he asked at last.
"No one at all, just; a laggard by the roadside--a lass with no home, no kin, and that for a fortune," and she flung out her two empty hands, palm uppermost, and laughed.
"And you are audacious enough to think you are richer than I." This time there was no sneer in his voice, only an amused toleration.
"You have youth and health," he conceded, grudgingly.
"Aye, and trust in other folks; that's a fearfully rich possession."