"Is it true?"
"Yes. But—damn it, I don't like to hear it."
"That is to say, you're willing to pay the price of remaining small and obscure just for the pleasure of indulging in a wretched hypocrisy of a self-deception. Bill, come out of the small class. Whether you go in with me or not, come out of the class of understrappers. What's the difference between the big men and their little followers? Why, the big men see. They don't deceive themselves with the cant they pour out for the benefit of the ignorant mob."
Tetlow was listening like a pupil to a teacher. That was always his attitude toward Norman.
"The big men," continued Norman, "know that canting is necessary—that one must always profess high and disinterested motives, and so on, and so on. But they don't let their hypocritical talk influence their actions. How is it with the little fellows? Why, they believe the flapdoodle the leaders talk. They go into the enterprise, do all the small dirty work, lie and cheat and steal, and hand over the proceeds to the big fellows, for the sake of a pat on the back and a noisy 'Honest fellow! Here are a few crumbs for you.' And crumbs are all that a weak, silly, hypocritical fool deserves. Can you deny it?"
"No doubt you're right, Fred," conceded Tetlow. "But I'm afraid I haven't the nerve."
"Come in behind me. I've got nerve for two—now!"
At that triumphant "now" Tetlow looked curiously at his friend. "Yes, it has changed you—changed you back to what you were. I don't understand."
"It isn't necessary that you understand," rejoined Norman."
"Do you think you could really carry through that scheme you've just outlined?"