“Good God! And this is what the country——”
“Bartlet,” he said, through curiously set lips with a little fixed smile about the corners, “cut out all that about the country. I prefer this to any more cadging for a job; that’s all.”
Silent from shame, I broke out at last: “It’s the limit! What about the Government schemes?”
“No go! All for younger men.”
“My dear chap!” was the only thing I could find to say.
“This isn’t a bad life in good weather,” he went on with that queer smile; “I’ve still got gassy lungs.”
“Do you mean to say you contemplate going on with this?”
“Till something turns up; but I’m no good at asking for things, Bartlet; I simply can’t do it.”
“What about your people?”
“Dead or broke.”