“I accept even this humble tribute to my originality,” said I, with a sort of proud defiance. “I am well aware how he must be regarded who dares to assert his own individuality.”
“I'd be very curious to know,” said he, after a pause of several minutes, “how a fellow of your stamp sets to work about gaining his livelihood? What's his first step? how does he go about it?”
I gave no other answer than a smile of scornful meaning.
“I meant nothing offensive,” resumed he, “but I really have a strong desire to be enlightened on this point.”
“You are doubtless impressed with the notion,” said I, boldly, “that men possessed of some distinct craft or especial profession are alone needed by the world of their fellows. That one must be doctor or lawyer or baker or shoemaker, to gain his living, as if life had no other wants than to be clothed and fed and physicked and litigated. As if humanity had not its thousand emotional moods, its wayward impulses, its trials and temptations, all of them more needing guidance, support, direction, and counsel, than the sickest patient needs a physician. It is on this world that I throw myself; I devote myself to guide infancy, to console age, to succor the orphan, and support the widow,—morally, I mean.”
“I begin to suspect you are a most artful vagabond,” said he half angrily.
“I have long since reconciled myself to the thought of an unjust appreciation,” said I. “It is the consolation dull men accept when confronted with those of original genius. You can't help confessing that all your distrust of me has grown out of the superiority of my powers, and the humble figure you have presented in comparison with me.”
“Do you rank modesty amongst these same powers?” he asked slyly.
“Modesty I reject,” said I, “as being a conventional form of hypocrisy.”
“Come down below,” said he, “and take a glass of brandy and water. It 's growing chilly here, and we shall be the better of something to cheer us.”