“You put yourself in the hands of a fanatic like that, and he's in a position to blackmail you, to do anything his crazy fancy may suggest.”
“Please believe me, Robbie, I wasn't doing anything for Uncle Jesse. I was trying to help a friend.”
“How far will a man go to help a friend? You were bucking the French government!”
“I know. It was a mistake.”
“A man has to learn to have discretion; to take care of himself. You want friends, Lanny — but also you want to know where to draw a line. If people find out they can sponge on you, there's no limit to it. One wants you to sign a note and bankrupt yourself. One gets drunk and wants you to sober him up. One is in a mess with a woman, and you have to get her off his neck. You're a soft-shell crab, that every creature in the sea can bite a chunk out of. Nobody respects you, nobody thinks of anything but to use you.”
“I'll try to learn from this, Robbie.” Lanny really meant it; but his main thought was: Soothe him down; cool him off!
“You have a friend who's a German,” continued the father. “All right, make up your mind what it means. As long as you live, Germany's going to be making war on France, and France on her. It doesn't matter what they call it, business or diplomacy, reparations, any name — Germany's foes will be trying to undermine her and she will be fighting back. If Kurt Meissner is going to be a musician, that's one thing, but if he's going to be a German agent, that's another. Sooner or later you've got to make up your mind what it means to have such a friend — and your mother's got to make up her mind what it means to have such a lover.”
“Yes, Robbie; you're right. I see it clearly.”
“And those Reds you've been meeting — I don't doubt they're clever talkers, more so than decent people, perhaps. But think what must be in the minds of revolutionists when they waste their time upon a young fellow like you! You have money, and you're credulous — you're their meat, laid out on the butcher's block! Maybe those Russians are going to survive awhile; maybe the Allies are too exhausted to put them down. They can live as long as they can plunder other people's wealth. And you have to make up your mind, are you going to let them use you, and laugh at you while they play you for a sucker? What else can you be to them — a parasite, the son of Robbie Budd the bloated capitalist, the merchant of death! Don't you see that you're everything in the world they hate and want to destroy?”
“Yes, Robbie, of course. I've no idea of having anything more to do with them.”