“Because of the dirt, Mr. Jericho. You see, you ride upon fortune’s wheel; now I only get the mud from it.”
“Very good,” said the patron Jericho. “And I’m glad you can try to make a joke, Mr. Carraways; it must be a great comfort to a poor man. Why, now, I can understand how a beggar of a cold night, if he can only muster up heart enough to make a joke, how it must be as good as a truss of straw to him; mus’n’t it, eh, Mr. Carraways?”
“’Pon my word, Mr. Jericho, I haven’t yet tried the experiment. And I do hope, you’ll never be brought to it; otherwise, I do think—try as you may—you’ll sleep plaguy coldly. But I didn’t come here to talk in this idle fashion.”
“I hope not,” said Jericho, sharpening his malice with his best might. “I hope you came to tell me, when you propose to see us at Jogtrot Hall. By the way, I’m going to change the name.”
“I hope so,” said Carraways very calmly.
“Yes; my friend the Duke of St. George—do you know the Duke?—-my friend has promised to give me a new name for it. Though I think, out of compliment to him, I shall call it George and Garter Lodge. You know, Mr. Gilbert Carraways, there’s no telling what one may come to.”
“No, Solomon Jericho,” said the merchant. “Still, just now, you must have one comfort; you can’t come to less than you are.” Jericho called up all his thunder to his brows. “Surely,” said Carraways tranquilly, as though he was speaking of some monstrous abortion of nature—“surely, ’tis wonderful! Why, my good man”—
“Good man!” roared Jericho.
“My good man,” and Carraways doggedly repeated the epithet, “where do you put your heart? Why, it can’t be as big as a poppy-seed. Do you ever walk out in the air? If so, pray put a gold-bar or so in your pockets, or some day the wind will take you up—carry you into the sky. And who knows? Some future astronomer—if I remember my schooling right, the sort of thing has been done—some astronomer may make a constellation of a bank-note.”
“I see,” said Jericho, with the most vigorous expression of pity. “I see,—you’re a free-thinker. Bank-notes in the sky! Poor man! Poverty has made you an atheist.”