"Yes?" said Leighton.
"He starts out, 'if, therefore the salamander lives in fire, as naturalists have recorded——' I looked up salamander in the dictionary."
Lewis's eyes were laughing, but Leighton's grew suddenly grave. "Poor old chap!" he said. "He didn't know that time rots the sanest argument. 'Oh… that mine adversary had written a book,' cried one who knew."
Leighton sat thoughtful for a moment, then he threw up his head.
"Well," he said, "we'll give up trying to find out how you got educated. Let's change the subject. Has it occurred to you that at any moment you may be called upon to support yourself?"
"It did once," said Lewis, "when I started for Oeiras. Then I met you. You haven't given me time or—or cause to think about it since. I'm—I'm not ungrateful——"
"That's enough," broke in Leighton. "Let's stick to the point. It's a lucky thing for the progress of the world that riches often take to the wing. It may happen to any of us at any time. The amount of stupidity that sweating humanity applies to the task of making a living is colossal. In about a million years we'll learn that making a living consists in knowing how to do well any necessary thing. It's harder for a gentleman to make a living than for a farm-hand. But—come with me."
He took Lewis to a certain Mecca of mighty appetites in the Strand. Before choosing a table, he made the round of the roasts, shoulders and fowl. They were in great domed, silver salvers, each on a barrow, each kept hot over lighted lamps.
Leighton seated himself and ordered.
"Now, boy, without staring take a good look at the man that does the carving."