You Too Can Be A Millionaire

"No." He held out his card.

"Hm." Her keen old eyes shot back to his. "Thirty-two hundred in the red. That's more than before. You've lost two hundred points this week, Mark."

"I know," he said dully.

"Here. Push me, Mark." She pulled the shawl around her and Mark started pushing the wheel-chair. "You're a nice boy," she said when they reached a quiet street. "You just can't adjust yourself to this modern world."

"I want a job," Mark said stubbornly. "Something to do besides--well, some kind of mark to aim at, I guess. This point business is just putting in time. I'm not creating anything. Even if I could fasten zippers on feather-beds, I'd be doing something worth while, because it'd be used. But this way of living is like digging a hole and then filling it in again. Why, you don't even dare to get into a fight. Somebody would collect a thousand points every time you hit him. The standard price of a black eye is three thousan