Binkie: that red daub isn't going anywhere,—unless you take precious good care, you will fall under the damnation of the check-book, and that's worse than death. You will get drunk—you're half drunk already—on easily-acquired money. For that money and your own infernal vanity you are willing to deliberately turn out bad work. You'll do quite enough bad work without knowing it. And, Dickie, as I love you and as I know you love me, I am not going to let you cut off your nose to spite your face for all the gold in England. That's settled. Now swear.'
'Don't know,' said Dick. 'I've been trying to make myself angry, but I can't, you're so abominably reasonable. There will be a row on Dickenson's Weekly, I fancy.'
'Why the Dickenson do you want to work on a weekly paper? It's slow bleeding of power.'
'It brings in the very desirable dollars,' said Dick, his hands in his pockets.
Torpenhow watched him with large contempt. 'Why, I thought it was a man!' said he. 'It's a child.'
'No, it isn't,' said Dick, wheeling quickly. 'You've no notion what the certainty of cash means to a man who has always wanted it badly. Nothing will pay me for some of my life's joys;
