“I—I don’t understand you,” I said.
“Well, the object of my worship—the thing on which I lavish so much time, thought, and money.”
“Is—is that it?” I said.
“That’s it,” he replied, enjoying my puzzled looks. “What do you think of it?”
I was silent for a few moments, gazing intently at the piece of mechanism before I said: “I don’t know.”
“Look here, Antony,” he said, rising and sweeping away some files and pieces of brass before seating himself upon the edge of the table: “do you know why we are friends?”
“No, but you have been very kind to me.”
“Have I?” he said. “Well, I have enjoyed it if I have. Antony, you are a gentleman’s son.” I nodded.
“And you know the meaning of the word honour?”
“I hope so.”