"Why don't you go in for political life yourself?" asked Michael Ford abruptly, quickening his pace.
"Because I can't afford it. I am a poor man, and all my people are poor. I make a fair income by editing The Pendulum and writing anonymous articles for a good many of the dailies, but not an income that would allow of anything like a parliamentary career."
"But Shams and Shadows and Some Better Thing must have brought you in a good deal."
"I have not yet received my royalties on Some Better Thing, and I could not touch a penny of the profits of Shams and Shadows."
"Now, there, my dear boy, you are wrong, and you must forgive an old friend for telling you so. That Shams and Shadows was a false step, I admit; and I am very glad that you have so soon retrieved it by contradicting all its nonsense in Some Better Thing; but I consider it a piece of idiotic quixotism to refuse the money that Shams and Shadows made."
"I think you must please let me be the judge of that," said Paul quietly.
"But, my good fellow, you are making a mistake, and are acting more like Edgar than like yourself. Throwing away the money which you fairly earned by your very clever if somewhat foolish book, is a piece of gratuitous self-denial which will do no good to anybody."
Paul smiled the smile of the obstinate, and Mr. Ford continued:
"Well, it is extremely silly of you. Now you were right not to publish a second edition of your book—although such an edition might have been of pecuniary advantage to you—because you saw that the book was unsound, and you had ceased to believe in your former teaching. For this I admire and respect you. But I cannot see why you should hesitate to appropriate the proceeds of the copies already sold."
Paul walked on in silence for a few seconds; then he said: "I simply could not do it, and that is the end of it".