"I can't die, yet.

I--I'm not ready for it! There's all that missionary work of mine not yet done, and my huge international Sunday School League to perfect; and there's the tremendous ten-million-dollar Cathedral of Saint Luke the Pious that I'm having built on Riverside Drive, and there's--" "Cut it!" gibed Waldron, spitting with very disgust.

"If your time's come, Flint, you'll die, cathedrals or no cathedrals.

Your Sunday schools won't save you any more than my investments will--which have largely been wine, women and song.

As a matter of fact, if it comes to starvation, if we aren't rescued and taken out from under the red-hot wreckage that's on top of us, I'll outlive _you_! I can exist on my surplus adipose tissue, for a while; but you--_you're_ nothing but skin and bone.