"I don't believe in a kind-hearted Providence," said Aaron, "and I don't believe Lilly does. But I believe in chance. I believe, if I go my own way, without tying my nose to a job, chance will always throw something in my way: enough to get along with."
"But on what do you base such a very unwarrantable belief?"
"I just feel like that."
"And if you are ever quite without success—and nothing to fall back on?"
"I can work at something."
"In case of illness, for example?"
"I can go to a hospital—or die."
"Dear me! However, you are more logical than Lilly. He seems to believe that he has the Invisible—call it Providence if you will—on his side, and that this Invisible will never leave him in the lurch, or let him down, so long as he sticks to his own side of the bargain, and never works for his own ends. I don't quite see how he works. Certainly he seems to me a man who squanders a great deal of talent unworthily. Yet for some reason or other he calls this true, genuine activity, and has a contempt for actual work by which a man makes provision for his years and for his family. In the end, he will have to fall back on charity. But when I say so, he denies it, and says that in the end we, the men who work and make provision, will have to fall back on him. Well, all I can say is, that so far he is in far greater danger of having to fall back on me, than I on him."
The old man sat back in his chair with a little laugh of triumph. But it smote almost devilishly on Aaron's ears, and for the first time in his life he felt that there existed a necessity for taking sides.
"I don't suppose he will do much falling back," he said.
"Well, he is young yet. You are both young. You are squandering your youth. I am an old man, and I see the end."
"What end, Sir William?"
"Charity—and poverty—and some not very congenial 'job,'
