"Why, sir?"
"'Why!'" cried Mr. Rushton, "there you are with your annoying questions! I hate it because it lowers still more my opinion of this miserable humanity. I see everywhere rascality, and fraud, and lies; and because there is danger of becoming the color of the stuff I work in, 'like the dyer's hand.' I hate it," growled Mr. Rushton.
"But you must see many noble things, sir, too,—a great deal of goodness, you know."
"Well, sir, so I do. I don't deny it. There are some men who are not entirely corrupt,—some who do not cheat systematically, and lie by the compass and the rule. But these are the exceptions. This life and humanity are foul sin from the beginning. Trust no one, young man—not even me; I may turn out a rogue. I am no better than the rest of the wretches!"
"Oh, Mr. Rushton!"
"There you are with your exclamations!"
"Oh, I'm sure, sir—"
"Be sure of nothing; let us end this jabber. How is your mother?" said
Mr. Rushton, abruptly.
"She's very well, sir."
"A good woman."