hundred a-year now; much less than I once had. I have spent much in the Cause. You will promise?'
'I cannot, sir. I thank you none the less; but you must give it to some one else.—To Mr. Starkie. I cannot promise to give up my life to the pursuit of a thing—I do not care for: I mean care for, enough for that,'
After a little he:
'You will think better of it when you are older. You are full of dreams now.—Promise me now. In five years… It is not for five years.'
'I cannot promise. You must not leave me that money. I could not take it without I did promise, and I will never promise. How could I—honestly?'
He sighed:
'My head is too heavy. I cannot talk any more now. Remember; I will alter nothing. You will go some day. Wait till you have been out in the world, boy. I have seen bees covered with tiny red spiders innumerable, tickled to death. I will alter nothing.'
I took his hand gently:
'I am sorry sir,' I said, 'to seem so ungrateful. It is not that I am really; but … I cannot do this: I cannot give up my life to such a thing! Do not think that I set great store by my life. I do not. I am not far from indifferent whether I live or whether I die—as yet. But, as you have just said, I am full of dreams. I have scarcely dared to whisper to my own heart what they are, but, such as they are, I will either climb up to them or to nothing. Greatness is the only truth.'
In a little he said:
'Oh greatness, greatness! what greatness, boy? It is all vague—visions—dreams—emptiness!'
'No, no, not to me—now.'
'I am too weary to talk of it any more. Rest, rest! This is not the end.'
I did not say what was upon my tongue. I was foolish to have said so much. I kept silence for a little. Then:
'Can I get you nothing? ' I said.
'Nothing, nothing!… Let us wait for Starkie.'
I rested my elbow on my knee and my chin upon my hand; and so sat, looking at the floor. Mr. Brooke
