ht here,” objected Jordan. “I don’t want to get stalled in this baking heat.”  Tom threw on both brakes impatiently, and we slid to an abrupt dusty stop under Wilson’s sign. After a moment the proprietor emerged from the interior of his establishment and gazed hollow-eyed at the car.  “Let’s have some gas!” cried Tom roughly. “What do you think we stopped for—to admire the view?”  “I’m sick,” said Wilson without moving. “Been sick all day.”  “What’s the matter?”  “I’m all run down.”  “Well, shall I help myself?” Tom demanded. “You sounded well enough on the phone.”  With an effort Wilson left the shade and support of the doorway and, breathing hard, unscrewed the cap of the tank. In the sunlight his face was green.  “I didn’t mean to interrupt your lunch,” he said. “But I need money pretty bad, and I was wondering what you were going to do with your old car.”  “How do you like this one?” inquired Tom. “I bought it last week.”  “It’s a nice yellow one,” said Wilson, as he strained at the handle.  “Like to buy it?”  “Big chance,” Wilson smiled faintly. “No, but I could make some money on the other.”  “What do you want money for, all of a sudden?”  “I’ve been here too long. I want to get away. My wife and I want to go West.”  “Your wife does,” exclaimed Tom, startled.  “She’s been talking about it for ten years.” He rested for a moment against the pump, shading his eyes. “And now she’s going whether she wants to or not. I’m going to get her away.”  The coupé flashed by us with a flurry of dust and the flash of a waving hand.  “What do I owe you?” demanded Tom harshly.  “I just got wised up to something funny the last two days,” remarked Wilson. “That’s why I want to get away. That’s why I been bothering you about the car.”  “What do I owe you?”  “Dollar twenty.”  The relentless beating heat was beginning to confuse me and I had a bad moment there before I realized that so far his suspicions hadn’t alighted on Tom. He had discovered that Myrtle had some sort of life apart from him in another world, and the shock had made him physically sick. I stared at him and then at Tom, who had made a parallel discovery less than an hour before—and it occurred to me that there was no difference between men, in intelligence or race, so profound as the difference between the sick and the well. Wilson was so sick that he looked guilty, unforgivably guilty—as if he had just got some poor girl with child.  “I’ll let you have that car,” said Tom. “I’ll send it over tomorrow afte