"A prophet has no honour in his own country," said Dick, ruefully, dusting his
knees. "This filthy fluff will never brush off my legs."
"It was all for your own good," said the Nilghai. "Nothing like air and
exercise."
"All for your good," said Torpenhow, not in the least with reference to past
clowning. "It would let you focus things at their proper worth and prevent your
becoming slack in this hothouse of a town. Indeed it would, old man. I
shouldn't have spoken if I hadn't thought so. Only, you make a joke of
everything."
"Before God I do no such thing," said Dick, quickly and earnestly. "You don't
know me if you think that."
I don't think it," said the Nilghai.
"How can fellows like ourselves, who know what life and death really mean, dare
to make a joke of anything? I know we pretend it, to save ourselves from
breaking down or going to the other extreme. Can't I see, old man, how you're
always anxious about me, and try to advise me to make my work better? Do you
suppose I don't think about that myself? But you can't help me--you can't help
me--not even you. I must play my own hand alone in my own way."
"Hear, hear," from the Nilghai.
"What's the one thing in the Nilghai Saga that I've never drawn in the
Nungapunga Book?" Dick continued to Torpenhow, who was a little astonished at
the outburst.
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