you to death.'

'I doubt it. Do you know, it seems to me that a great deal of nonsense
is talked about the dignity of work. Work is a drug that dull people
take to avoid the pangs of unmitigated boredom. It has been adorned with
fine phrases, because it is a necessity to most men, and men always gild
the pill they're obliged to swallow. Work is a sedative. It keeps people
quiet and contented. It makes them good material for their leaders. I
think the greatest imposture of Christian times is the sanctification of
labour. You see, the early Christians were slaves, and it was necessary
to show them that their obligatory toil was noble and virtuous. But when
all is said and done, a man works to earn his bread and to keep his wife
and children; it is a painful necessity, but there is nothing heroic in
it. If people choose to put a higher value on the means than on the end,
I can only pass with a shrug of the shoulders, and regret the paucity of
their intelligence.'

'It's really unfair to talk so much all at once,' said Mrs. Crowley,
throwing up her pretty hands.

But Dick would not be stopped.

'For my part I have neither wife nor child, and I have an income that is
more than adequate. Why should I take the bread out of somebody else's
mouth? And it's not on my own merit that I get briefs--men seldom do--I
only get them because I happen to have at the back of me a very large
firm of solicitors. And I can find nothing worthy in attending to these
foolish disputes. In most cases it's six of one and half a dozen of the
other, and each side is very unjust and pig-headed. No, the bar is a
fair way of earning your living like another, but it's no more than
that; and, if you can exist without, I see no reason why Quixotic
motives of the dignity of human toil should keep you to it. I've already
told you why I mean to give up my seat in Parliament.'

'Have you realised that you are throwing over a career that may be very
brilliant? You should get an under-secretaryship in the next
government.'

'That would only mean licking the boots of a few more men
whom I despise.'

'It's a very dangerous experiment that you're making.'

Dick looked straight into Alec MacKenzie's eyes.

'And is it you who counsel me not to make it on that account?' he said,
smiling. 'Surely experiments are only amusing if they're dangerous.'

'And to what is it precisely that you mean to devote your time?' asked
Mrs. Crowley.

'I should like to mak