“Do you know,” said Azalea, “I can scarcely picture you being beaten. Somehow, one feels that you ought to do everything well.”
“Heaven forfend! You don’t understand me, Miss Deane! You think me always and inevitably serious—that my disposition will not permit me to do things by halves. Nothing is further from the truth.”
“But you don’t agree with Horace, do you? Remember, he said that it is pleasant to play the fool deliberately, and be silly now and then.”
“I do not! No one who recognises the thin line that divides sanity from its awful opposite, can ever willingly approach that line. On the other hand, however, I believe that it is an expedient of great psychonomic value to do things which one knows he does badly—or let us say inartistically—at times.”
“Golf certainly offers rare opportunities to many persons,” murmured Azalea.
“And dancing! Look at me . . . I dance as badly as I play golf, but candidly, I don’t want to do either of them well. My mind rests itself in the conviction that I am doing badly, and so I am refreshed.”
“What harm do you see in doing them well?”
“Speaking for myself—and myself alone, you understand—I should be ashamed of excelling in either of these arts, because excellence spells much long and arduous labour in acquiring perfection. You remember Herbert Spencer’s rebuke to the young man who beat him handily at billiards . . . ‘Your exceedingly great skill argues a mis-spent youth’, he said. That’s just it! Skill in trivial things is not worth while unless you are earning your bread thereby. For example, were I a golf pro. or a dancing master . . . No, Miss Deane, I despise the crack amateur.”
“Oh!”
“It’s true, and having said so much, you will be prepared to hear me add that I dispute the sonorous counsel, ‘Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with all thy might’. Utter nonsense, I call it!”