“Emphatically, yes. One of the few I have—it seems to-night.”
“And I couldn’t possibly have any selfish motive in—in tearing you loose from your moorings?”
“None whatever that I can imagine. Why?” 95
“You won’t take offence either if I advise plainly?”
“No, I’m not a fool—yet. What is it, Darley,—your advice?”
Again Roberts paused, deliberately now, unemotionally.
“My advice then is to chuck it, for to-day and to-morrow and all time: the University, this whole artistic rainbow, chuck it as though it were hot, red hot, and get down to earth. Is that brutally plain enough?”
Unconsciously Armstrong had sat up, expectant. A moment he remained so, taking in the thought, all its implications, its suddenly suggested possibilities; as the full revolutionary significance of the idea came home of a sudden he dropped back in his place. With an effort he smiled.
“To answer your question: yes, I think that is brutally frank enough,” he said. A moment longer he remained quiet, thinking, the idea expanding. “Chuck it,” he repeated half to himself. “It sounds sensible certainly, to-night particularly.” New thoughts came, thoughts like the sifting of dead ashes. “Chuck it,” feverishly, “and admit incompetency, cowardice, failure absolute!” For the third time he was on his feet. 96 “No, never. I’ll go to the devil first.” His fingers were on the red decanter, his brown eyes aflame. “I’ll—”
“Armstrong!”