[Mr. Effingham crosses behind. Caroline and Cobb remain in conversation.
Bul. No, it might not be. I am fated. Destiny has declared against me. Fettered to the desk of an obscure attorney—forced to imprison my soaring soul within the left-off garments of a father whose figure has but little in common with my own, who can wonder that my life is one protracted misfit?
Mr. Eff. (rising). My boy, sneer not at those clothes. They have been worn for many, many years by a very old, but very upright man. Be proud of them. No sordid thought has ever lurked behind that waistcoat. That hat has never yet been doffed to vicious wealth. Those shoes have never yet walked into the parlours of the sinful.
Mrs. Eff. (embracing him). I am sure of that, Adolphus,—I am very, very sure of that.
Bul. It may be as you say. I do respect these clothes, but not even a father’s eloquence can gloze over the damning fact that they are second-hand!
[Turns up and exit on to balcony, as Mr. and Mrs. Effingham exeunt lovingly.
Car. A blessing on him. Is he not benevolent?
Tom. Yes, he looks so. Why do benevolent people have such long hair? Do they say to themselves, “I am a benevolent person, so I will let my hair grow,” or do they let it grow because they are too benevolent to cut it off?
Car. There are thousands of such questions that appear at every turn to make us marvel at Nature’s strange decrees. Let us not pry into these dark secrets. Let us rather enquire whether you have any chance of getting anything to do? (Rises.)
Tom. No; there’s no opening for major-generals just now.