"You'll have to chuck it all. You'll have to chuck this folly of yours, and put your shoulder to the wheel and work."
"I thought I did work," said Kent doggedly. "Do you think literature is a game?"
"I think it's an infernal rotten game—yes!"
"Ah, well, there," said Kent, "many literary men have agreed with you."
"You'll have to put your mind to something serious. If you only earn thirty bob a week, it's more than your novels bring you in. What your wife and child will do, God knows—have to come to us, I suppose. A fine thing for a girl married eighteen months!"
"She hasn't arrived at it yet," answered Kent, very pale, "and I don't fancy she will. Many thanks for the invitation."
Walford stopped short—they had met in the High Road—and cocked his head, his legs apart.
"Will you take a berth in the City for a couple of quid, if I can get you one?" he demanded sharply.
"No," said Kent, "I'll be damned if I will! I'll stick to my pen, whatever happens, and I'll stick to my wife and child, too!"
The other did not pursue the conversation, but the next time that Humphrey saw Mrs. Walford she told him that his father-in-law was very much incensed against him for his ingratitude.