So died Rosario!" Arnold shook his head.
"The cases are not similar, Isaac," he declared.
"You lie!" Isaac shrieked.

"There is not a hair's-breadth of difference! Rosario earned his wealth in an office hung with costly pictures; he earned it lounging in ease in a padded chair, earned it by the monkey tricks of a dishonest brain.

Never an honest day's work did he perform in his life, never a day did he stand in the market-place where the weaker were falling day by day.

In fat comfort he lived, and he died fittingly on the portals of a restaurant, the cost of one meal at which would have fed a dozen starving children.

Pity Rosario! Pity his soul, if you will, but not his dirty body!" "The man is dead," Arnold muttered.
"Dead, and let him rot!" Isaac cried fiercely.