‘Well, if you put it in that light, I, of course, expect to be paid. As a fellow literary man, I would, of course, prefer to work for you for nothing; but you see, sir, one must live, and the fact is, I have a duty to discharge to my wife and family. A man who neglects them, you know, is worse than an infidel. I believe I have Scriptural authority for that statement?’
‘I believe you have, sir.’
‘Ah, yes, my dear sir, I thought a man of your knowledge and good sense would admit as much. You know me—my name is Roberts.’
‘I can’t say that I do.’
‘Well, that is a good one! Did you never read my poem on the death of Prince Albert?’
‘I can’t say that I have.’
‘Don’t you remember my celebrated speech at Little Pedlington in favour of the Society for the Equal Diffusion of Capital?’
‘I can’t say that I ever heard of it.’
‘Well, you do surprise me! How true it is that the world knows nothing of its greatest men! Surely you must have heard of my celebrated discussion with the great O’Toole in the Town Hall of Mudford on the rights of man, of which the Mudford Observer remarked that I demolished my unfortunate antagonist with the brilliancy of Macaulay, with the philosophy of a Burke, with the wit of a Sheridan, and with a native originality indicative of the rarest genius. Why, it was the talk of the whole town for weeks. Do you really mean to tell me, Mr. Wentworth, that you never heard of that?’
‘Never,’ said Wentworth dryly.