Poor Dick! It is true that after you have begged me to take you out, you leave me in the middle of the street to go and exchange compliments with the first scabby, ugly cur that you stumble upon. But what doI do myself? How many times in my life have I shunned the company of educated and venerable senators, by whom I was annoyed, and then gone and rubbed elbows with hair-brained people who have the reputation of being corrupt, if they have amused me? With what boldness I inveigh against you, when without permission, you appropriate the leg of a pigeon, and I, for the sake of genteel living, make a good face to the rascals enriched by fraud, and oppression! Why do I complain at your barking when the bell rings, and then listen with endless patience to many unwelcome bores, who make more noise than you, and they do not say anything wiser or better? Why do I despise you when you stick your mouth into something dirty,—and I have read with pleasure so many filthy books? And with pleasure I shake hands with many unclean people who are living just such lives as I read about in the books. How do I dare to complain? Ah, it's a shame, dear Dick.
