“Fred’s affair—not mine.”
“Your brother says it was your affair. Don’t think I want to inquire into the horrid story. I have found quite enough shame and degradation among my family without wanting to know more.”
“If Fred says that, it is simply disgraceful. Why, everybody knew—but, as you say, why rake up old scandals?—at the time when it happened. But why, as you say——”
“Why, indeed? Except to make quite sure that there is no longer a shred of family pride possible for us. I now learn, on your own confession, that you entered upon a general course of imposition, and deception, by which you have managed to live ever since, and to maintain your family with credit because you have escaped detection.”
“Excuse me. I don’t call it deception. Nobody is deceived, except pleasantly. Is it wrong to present a fellow-creature in an agreeable and quite unexpected character before the world? Can you blame me for raising the standard of after-dinner oratory? Can you blame me for creating reputations by the dozen?”
“I make no doubt that you persuaded yourself that it was laudable and honourable. Nevertheless——”
“You must consider how it grew. I told you I was myself a good after-dinner speaker. I was hard up. Then this man—old friend, now a Colonial Judge—came to me for help. I wrote him a speech, and he bought it—that is to say, he lent me ten pounds for it—really he bought my secrecy. That’s how it began. Money was necessary. There was an unexpected way of making money. So it spread.”
“I have no doubt that the practice of imposition was duly paid for.”
“You must consider—really. There is nothing envied so much as the reputation of good after-dinner speaking. I supply that reputation. People go where they are likely to hear good speeches. I supply those speeches.”
“I do not deny the position. But you are, nevertheless, helping a man, for money, to deceive the world.”