A moment later, the drawer closed
again.
"He'll do now, for a while," thought Waldron, with satisfaction. "Let
him go the limit, if he likes--the fool! The more he takes, the quicker
I win. It'll kill him yet, the dope will. And _that_ means, my mastery
of the world will be complete. Let him go it! The harder, the better!"
He turned back toward Flint, again, veiling in that impenetrable face of
his the slightest hint or expression which might have told Flint that he
understood the Billionaire's vice. If Flint were Vulture, Waldron was
Tiger, indeed. And so, for a brief moment, these two soulless men of
gold and power stood eyeing each other, in silence.
Suddenly Waldron spoke.
"There's one thing you've forgotten to speak of, Flint," he said.
"And that is?" demanded the other, already calmed by the quick action of
the subtle, enslaving drug.
"The effect on the world's poor--on the toiling millions! The results of
this innovation, in slum, and slave-quarter, and in the haunts of
poverty.
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