They are only men and women. You talk as if they were gods.”
“That sounds very fine, but it has nothing to do with the case. They are the people you have to do work for, whether you like it or not. They are your masters. Don’t be deceived, Dickie, you aren’t strong enough to trifle with them,—or with yourself, which is more important.
Moreover,—Come back, Binkie: that red daub isn’t going anywhere,—unless you take precious good care, you will fall under the damnation of the check-book, and that’s worse than death. You will get drunk—you’re half drunk already—on easily acquired money. For that money and your own infernal vanity you are willing to deliberately turn out bad work. You’ll do quite enough bad work without knowing it. And, Dickie, as I love you and as I know you love me, I am not going to let you cut off your nose to spite your face for all the gold in England. That’s settled. Now swear.”
“Don’t know, said Dick. “I’ve been trying to make myself angry, but I can’t, you’re so abominably reasonable. There will be a row on Dickenson’s Weekly, I fancy.”
“Why the Dickenson do you want to work on a weekly paper? It’s slow bleeding of power.”
“It brings in the very desirable dollars,” said Dick, his hands in his pockets.
Torpenhow watched him with large contempt. “Why, I thought it was a man!” said he. “It’s a child.”
“No, it isn’t,” said Dick, wheeling quickly. “You’ve no notion what the certainty of cash means to a man who has always wanted it badly.
Nothing will pay me for some of my life’s joys; on that Chinese pig-boat, for instance, when we ate bread and jam for every meal, because Ho-Wang wouldn’t allow us anything better, and it all tasted of pig,—Chinese pig. I’ve worked for this, I’ve sweated and I’ve starved for this, line on line and month after month. And now I’ve got it I am going to make the most of it while it lasts. Let them pay—they’ve no knowledge.”
“What does Your Majesty please to want? You can’t smoke more than you do; you won’t drink; you’re a gross feeder; and you dress in the dark, by the look of you. You wouldn’t keep a horse the other day when I suggested, because, you said, it might fall lame, and whenever you cross the street you take a hansom. Even you are not foolish enough to suppose that theatres and all the live things you can buy thereabouts mean Life.