"That, of course, depends on what your idea of a good time may be; doesn't it, Rodney?"
"It depends somewhat," Rodney replied, "on the purchasing power of money. There are things not to be had for cash."
"I'm afraid my conception of a good time," Davenant smiled, "might be more feasible without the cash than with it. After all, money would be a doubtful blessing to a bee if it took away the task of going out to gather honey."
"A bee," Guion observed, "isn't the product of a high and complex civilization—"
"Neither am I," Davenant declared, with a big laugh. "I spring from the primitive stratum of people born to work, who expect to work, and who, when they don't work, have no particular object in living on."
"And so you've come back to Boston to work?"
"To work—or something."
"You leave yourself, I see, the latitude of—something."
"Only because it's better than nothing. It's been nothing for so long now that I'm willing to make it anything."
"Make what—anything?"