He explained that they had their professional partners and gave exhibition dances, showing the new steps. They also gave private lessons. It was the way they made their living. Olivia knitted a perplexed brow.
“It doesn’t seem a very noble profession for a young man.”
Sydney Rooke shrugged his shoulders politely.
“I’m with you a thousand times, my dear Miss Gale. The parasite, per se, isn’t a noble object. But what would you have? The noble things of the past few years came to an end a short while ago, and, if I can read the times, reaction has already begun. In six months’ time the noble fellow will be a hopeless anachronism.”
“Do you mean,” asked Olivia, “that all the young men will be rotten?”
He smiled. “How direct you are! Disconcerting, if I may say so. So positive; while I was approaching the matter from the negative side. There’ll be a universal loss of ideals.”
Olivia protested. “The young man has before him the reconstruction of the world.”
“Oh no,” said Rooke. “He has done his bit. He expects other people to carry out the reconstructing business for him. All he cares about is to find a couple of sixpences to jingle together in his pocket.”
“And have these young men who devote their lives to foxtrotting done their bit?”
He begged the question. “Pray be guided by my prophecy, Miss Gale. Next year you mustn’t mention war to ears polite. These young men are alive. They thank God for it. Let you and me do likewise.”