Part 108 (2/2)
”Isn't that bad enough?”
”No. She may throw him out of gear and knock his work to pieces for a while. She may even turn up here some day and make a scene on the staircase: one never knows. But until d.i.c.k speaks of his own accord you had better not touch him. He is no easy-tempered man to handle.”
”No; I wish he were. He is such an aggressive, c.o.c.ksure, you-be-d.a.m.ned fellow.”
”He'll get that knocked out of him in time. He must learn that he can't storm up and down the world with a box of moist tubes and a slick brush.
You're fond of him?”
”I'd take any punishment that's in store for him if I could; but the worst of it is, no man can save his brother.”
”No, and the worser of it is, there is no discharge in this war. d.i.c.k must learn his lesson like the rest of us. Talking of war, there'll be trouble in the Balkans in the spring.”
”That trouble is long coming. I wonder if we could drag d.i.c.k out there when it comes off?”
d.i.c.k entered the room soon afterwards, and the question was put to him.
”Not good enough,” he said shortly. ”I'm too comf'y where I am.”
”Surely you aren't taking all the stuff in the papers seriously?” said the Nilghai. ”Your vogue will be ended in less than six months,--the public will know your touch and go on to something new,--and where will you be then?”
”Here, in England.”
”When you might be doing decent work among us out there? Nonsense! I shall go, the Keneu will be there, Torp will be there, Ca.s.savetti will be there, and the whole lot of us will be there, and we shall have as much as ever we can do, with unlimited fighting and the chance for you of seeing things that would make the reputation of three Verestchagins.”
”Um!” said d.i.c.k, pulling at his pipe.
”You prefer to stay here and imagine that all the world is gaping at your pictures? Just think how full an average man's life is of his own pursuits and pleasures. When twenty thousand of him find time to look up between mouthfuls and grunt something about something they aren't the least interested in, the net result is called fame, reputation, or notoriety, according to the taste and fancy of the speller my lord.”
”I know that as well as you do. Give me credit for a little gumption.”
”Be hanged if I do!”
”Be hanged, then; you probably will be,--for a spy, by excited Turks.
Heigh-ho! I'm weary, dead weary, and virtue has gone out of me.” d.i.c.k dropped into a chair, and was fast asleep in a minute.
”That's a bad sign,” said the Nilghai, in an undertone.
Torpenhow picked the pipe from the waistcoat where it was beginning to burn, and put a pillow behind the head. ”We can't help; we can't help,”
he said. ”It's a good ugly sort of old cocoanut, and I'm fond of it.
There's the scar of the wipe he got when he was cut over in the square.”
”Shouldn't wonder if that has made him a trifle mad.”
”I should. He's a most businesslike madman.”
Then d.i.c.k began to snore furiously.
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