"We've had our break, but I've always respected you. You thought I was a snob then, and a damned aristocrat. Well, was I so far wrong? I believe in the best getting together and keeping together. You've chucked that and tried the other, haven't you? Now look where it's brought you."
Stover, his back to the wall, heard him with the clarity that sometimes comes. His head seemed to be among whirling mists, but every word came to him as though it alone were the only sound in a sleeping world. He wanted to answer, he rebelled at the logic, he knew it could be answered, but the words would not come.
"You're going to the devil, that's it in good English words," said Le Baron, not without kindness. "You ought to be the biggest thing in your class, and you're headed for the biggest failure. And it's all because you've cut loose from your crowd, Dink—from your own kind, because you've taken up with a bunch who don't count, who aren't working for anything here."
Suddenly Stover revolted, saying angrily:
"Hugh!"
"I don't want to hit you when you're down," said Le Baron quickly. "But, Dink, man alive, you're too good to go to the devil. Brace up—be a man. Get back to your own kind again."
"Hugh, that's enough!"
He said it sharply, and there was a finality about it.
"I say, Dink."
"Good night!"