On the whole, Gros
Barbazon was a bad lot.
At Marchand's words Barbazon shrugged his shoulders. "The more spent
to-night, the less to spend to-morrow," he growled.
"But there's going to be spending for a long time," Marchand answered.
"There's going to be a riot to-morrow, and there's going to be a strike
the next day, and after that there's going to be something else."
"What else?" Barbazon asked, his beady eyes fastened on Marchand's face.
"Something worth while-better than all the rest." Barbazon's low forehead
seemed to disappear almost, as he drew the grizzled shock of hair down,
by wrinkling his forehead with a heavy frown.
"It's no damn good, m'sieu'," he growled. "Am I a fool? They'll spend
money to-night, and tomorrow, and the next day, and when the row is on;
and the more they spend then, the less they'll have to spend by-and-by.
It's no good. The steady trade for me--all the time. That is my idee. And
the something else--what? You think there's something else that'll be
good for me? Nom de Dieu, there's nothing you're doing, or mean to do,
but'll hurt me and everybody."
"That's your view, is it, Barbazon?" exclaimed Marchand loudly, for the
crowd was now almost at the door. "You're a nice Frenchman and patriot.
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