"Next to small-pox and a bullet through your heart, worry is about the blackest, man-killingest thing on earth, David.

See that bag ?" He pointed to one of the bulging gunny sacks.
"That's the antidote," he said.

"It's the best medicine I know of in the grub line for a man who's lost his grip.

There's the making of three men in that sack." "What is it ?" asked David, curiously.
The Missioner bent over to examine a card attached to the neck of the bag.
"To be perfectly accurate it contains 110 pounds of beans," he answered.
"Beans! Great Heavens! I loathe them!" "So do most down-and-outs," affirmed Father Roland, cheerfully.

"That's one reason for the peculiar psychological value of beans.