"Ah, do," said Jim the Hatter, with a secret sign to the Nonentities which Chaytor did not see; "then we shall know where we are."
"I'll tell you where we are, literally, mates. We're in a heaven-forsaken township, running fast to bone, which leads to skeleton. Now I'm not prepared for that positive eventuality just yet. This world is good enough for me at present, and I mean to do my best to enjoy it."
"Can't you enjoy it in our company?" asked Jim the Hatter.
"I think not," said Chaytor, with cool insolence. "The best of friends must part."
"Oh, that's your little game, is it?"
"That is my little game. I am growing grey. If I don't look out I shall be white before I am thirty. Really I think it must be the effect of the company I have kept."
"We're not good enough for you, I suppose?"
"If you ask for my deliberate opinion I answer, most distinctly not. No, mates, not by a long way good enough."
"Don't be stuck up, mate. Better men than you have had to eat humble pie."
"Any sort of pie," said Chaytor, philosophically, "is better than no pie at all. Take my advice. Bid good-bye to Gum Flat, gigantic fraud that it is, and go in search of big nuggets. That is what I am going to do."