“Precisely,” said Tony, with an expression of infinite disgust.
“And you, my child, fully mean to be.”
“Hang it!” said Tony. “I suppose I do.”
For a moment Carroll was silent and his expression changed from one of good-natured raillery to one of subtle sadness.
“Poor little devil!” he said at last, “why not?” Tony looked at him to see if he were joking. “Oh, I know I couldn’t do it,” Reggie went on. “I haven’t the knack or the grace, or whatever it is called. But old Bill is right; you have. Why, kiddo, the world’s a hell for a lot of people just because the rest of us, who have had more of a chance, sit tight and comfy and don’t care.”
“I suppose it is,” said Tony grimly, “but to tell the truth, I hate to think about such things—for a while yet, anyway.”
“There is one thing to be said,” Carroll continued, without paying any attention to Tony’s remark, “if you do it, do it from the bottom up. Make a good job of it.”
“It’s sheer asininity,” protested Tony. “I can’t do it. Oh, Reggie, I hate him! he’s a loathsome little reptile.”
“Naturally he is that, or Bill would not be so extraordinary on the subject. He doesn’t mess with our affairs very often, you know.”
“Yes, I know,” Tony muttered.