“Work—it’s the thing in life!” roared Garstin. “It’s the great consolation for all the damnableness of the human existence. Work first and the love of women second!”
“Thank you very much for your chivalry, Dick,” said Miss Van Tuyn, sending one of her most charming blue glances to the living bronze, who returned it, almost eagerly, she thought.
“And the love of women betrays,” continued Garstin. “But work never lets you down.”
He flung out his right arm and quoted sonorously from Pissaro: “I paint portraits because doing it helps me to live!” he almost shouted. “Another cigar!” He turned to Arabian.
“Thank you. They are beauties and not too strong.”
“You’ve got a damned strong constitution if you can say that. You have been like me; you have fortified it by work.”
“I fear not,” he said with a smile. “I have been a flaneur, an idler. It has been my great misfortune to have enough money for what I want without working.”
“Like poor me!” said Miss Van Tuyn, feeling suddenly relieved.
“I pity you both!” said Garstin.
And he branched away to literature, to music, to sculpture. Lowering his big voice suddenly he spoke of the bronzes of the Naples Museum, half shutting his eyes till they were two narrow slits, and looking intently at Arabian.