"Men are too busy making money, my dear fellow."
"That's just it. Money's a very nice thing."
"Very nice," said Lopez.
"But the search after it is debasing. If a man could make money for four, or six, or even eight hours a day, and then wash his mind of the pursuit, as a clerk in an office washes the copies and ledgers out of his mind, then—"
"He would never make money in that way,—and keep it."
"And therefore the whole thing is debasing. A man ceases to care for the great interests of the world, or even to be aware of their existence, when his whole soul is in Spanish bonds. They wanted to make a banker of me, but I found that it would kill me."
"It would kill me, I think, if I had to confine myself to Spanish bonds."
"You know what I mean. You at any rate can understand me, though I fear you are too far gone to abandon the idea of making a fortune."
"I would abandon it to-morrow if I could come into a fortune ready made. A man must at any rate eat."
"Yes;—he must eat. But I am not quite sure," said Wharton thoughtfully, "that he need think about what he eats."