'
'There again,' said Mr Haredale, 'you have me at a great advantage. Your
self-command--'
'Is not to be disturbed, when it will serve my purpose, you would
say'--rejoined the other, interrupting him with the same complacency.
'Granted. I allow it. And I have a purpose to serve now. So have you. I
am sure our object is the same. Let us attain it like sensible men, who
have ceased to be boys some time.--Do you drink?'
'With my friends,' returned the other.
'At least,' said Mr Chester, 'you will be seated?'
'I will stand,' returned Mr Haredale impatiently, 'on this dismantled,
beggared hearth, and not pollute it, fallen as it is, with mockeries. Go
on.'
'You are wrong, Haredale,' said the other, crossing his legs, and
smiling as he held his glass up in the bright glow of the fire. 'You are
really very wrong. The world is a lively place enough, in which we must
accommodate ourselves to circumstances, sail with the stream as glibly
as we can, be content to take froth for substance, the surface for the
depth, the counterfeit for the real coin. I wonder no philosopher has
ever established that our globe itself is hollow. It should be, if
Nature is consistent in her works.
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