“That’s so like you,” said Tom; “as if it matters anything to me what happens to them. I shall produce them, that is enough.”
“So the rest of the world will think, as you will find.”
“What?”
“I mean they won’t go a step further, and wish to possess them.”
“My dear Manvers, what do I care?”
Manvers looked at him composedly.
“Yes, of course, it doesn’t matter to you just yet. But when the masterpieces are fruitful and multiply (masterpieces breed like rabbits, you know), you will begin to wonder by degrees why they are unappreciated. You will be like a struggling curate with many children. He loves them all, but he cannot help wondering wistfully what will happen to them.”
Tom shook his head with an air of benign superiority.
“You don’t really think that, do you?”
“Ah, well, it would be driving the case to extremes. What I expect will happen is that you will get tired of your masterpieces, or rather your first masterpiece, long before the rest of the world has an opportunity of doing so.”