But I'm no Samson or David--I'm just Tom Mocket--and still, why shouldn't I have my pennyworth ?" Rand paused in his walking up and down the office in Main Street.

It was the late winter, a year and more from that evening when he and Jacqueline had first come to the house on Shockoe Hill.

Standing by the rough deal table, he laid an authoritative hand upon the documents with which it was strewn.

"You'll never get your pennyworth here.

The scheme these gentry have afoot is just a Yazoo business.