More than ever I am convinced by his
fate that all the high-flying legislation, all the preaching of
morality, all pulpit abstractions count for nothing. The best men must
try by strenuous individual exertions to combat the subtle curse which
has converted the good, generous Billy Devine into a mean debauche. I am
out of it. I smoke with Billy, I clink glasses with Billy, I laugh at
Billy's declamations, and I am often muddled when I leave Billy in the
morning. He illustrates sordidly a chapter of England's history. I wish
he didn't.
THE ROBBERY.
I was robbed last night, and it served me right for being a fool. A
seedy, down-looking man hangs about The Chequers all day, and he never
does any work except stick up the pins in the skittle alley. He has a
sly, secret look, and I fancy he is one of the stupid class of
criminals. We often talk together, but there is not much to be got out
of him; he usually keeps his eye on someone else's pewter, and he is
catholic in his taste for drinks.
Pages:
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88