'The book, Herr Professor?'
'Collect your wits. We will call it Shakespeare's book; or Gothe's, in the minor issues. No, not minor, but a narrower volume. You were about to give me the answer of a hypocrite. Was it not so?'
I admitted it, feeling that it was easily to have been perceived. He was elated.
'Good. Then I apprehend that you wait for the shifting of a tide to carry you on?'
'I try to strengthen my mind.'
'So I hear,' said he dryly.
'Well, as far as your schools of teaching will allow.'
'That is, you read and commit to memory, like other young scholars.
Whereunto? Have you no aim? You have, or I am told you are to have,
fabulous wealth—a dragon's heap. You are one of the main drainpipes of
English gold. What is your object? To spend it?'
'I shall hope to do good with it.'
'To do good! There is hardly a prince or millionaire, in history or alive, who has not in his young days hugged that notion. Pleasure swarms, he has the pick of his market. You English live for pleasure.'