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.