“He must go alone. He speaks truth, Torp.”
“Maybe I'm as wrong as I can be—hideously wrong. I must find that out for myself, as I have to think things out for myself, but I daren't turn my head to dress by the next man. It hurts me a great deal more than you know not to be able to go, but I cannot, that's all. I must do my own work and live my own life in my own way, because I'm responsible for both. Only don't think I frivol about it, Torp. I have my own matches and sulphur, and I'll make my own hell, thanks.”
There was an uncomfortable pause. Then Torpenhow said blandly, “What did the Governor of North Carolina say to the Governor of South Carolina?”
“Excellent notion. It is a long time between drinks. There are the makings of a very fine prig in you, Dick,” said the Nilghai.
“I've liberated my mind, estimable Binkie, with the feathers in his mouth.” Dick picked up the still indignant one and shook him tenderly. “You're tied up in a sack and made to run about blind, Binkie-wee, without any reason, and it has hurt your little feelings. Never mind. Sic volo, sic jubeo, stet pro ratione voluntas, and don't sneeze in my eye because I talk Latin. Good night.”
He went out of the room.
“That's distinctly one for you,” said the Nilghai. “I told you it was hopeless to meddle with him. He's not pleased.”
“He'd swear at me if he weren't. I can't make it out. He has the go-fever upon him and he won't go. I only hope that he mayn't have to go some day when he doesn't want to,” said Torpenhow.
In his own room Dick was settling a question with himself—and the question was whether all the world, and all that was therein, and a burning desire to exploit both, was worth one threepenny piece thrown into the Thames.