The question thus settled, there seemed to be no necessity to prolong the interview. But Joseph did not move. Meredith waited patiently.
“I'll go up, sir, to the Platter,” said the servant at length, “and I'll place myself under Mr. Oscard's orders; but before I go I want to give you notice of resignation. I resigns my partnership in this 'ere Simiacine at six months from to-day. It's a bit too hot, sir, that's the truth. It's all very well for gentlemen like yourself and Mr. Oscard, with fortunes and fine houses, and, as sayin' goes, a wife apiece waiting for you at home—it's all very well for you to go about in this blamed country, with yer life in yer hand, and not a tight grip at that. But for a poor soldier-man like myself, what has smelt the regulation powder all 'is life and hasn't got nothing to love and no gal waiting for him at home—well, it isn't good enough. That's what I say, sir, with respects.”
He added the last two words by way of apology for having banged a very solid fist on the table. Meredith smiled.
“So you've had enough of it?” he said.
“Enough ain't quite the word, sir. Why, I'm wore to a shadow with the trouble and anxiety of getting you down here.”
“Fairly substantial shadow,” commented Meredith.
“May be, sir. But I've had enough of moneymakin'. It's too dear at the price. And if you'll let an old servant speak his mind it ain't fit for you, this 'ere kind of work. It's good enough for black-scum and for chocolate-birds like Durnovo; but this country's not built for honest white men—least of all for born and bred gentlemen.”
“Yes—that's all very well in theory, Joseph, and I'm much obliged to you for thinking of me. But you must remember that we live in an age where money sanctifies everything. Your hands can't get dirty if there is money inside them.”
Joseph laughed aloud.
“Ah, that's your way of speaking, sir, that's all. And I'm glad to hear it. You have not spoken like that for two months and more.”