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Harry believed that he was as able to write a leading article, at any rate, as Quaverdale, and that the Greek iambics would not stand in his way. But he conceived it to be probable that his habits of cleanliness might do so, and gave up the idea for the present.
But he gave up the intermediate days to thinking over the condition which bound him to his uncle, and to discussing his prospects with Quaverdale, who, as usual, was remaining in town doing the editor's work for The Coming Hour. "If he interfered with me I should tell him to go to bed," said Quaverdale. The allusion was, of course, made to Mr. Prosper. "I am not on those sort of terms with him."
And as the world generally is not very fond of Augustus Scarborough, and entertains a sort of a good-natured pity for Mountjoy, the first marriage will be easily accepted." "There'll be a lawsuit, I suppose?" said Quaverdale. "I don't see that they'll have a leg to stand on. When the old man dies the property will be exactly as it would have been.
He was very amusing, very happy, very thoughtless, and as a rule altogether impecunious. Annesley had never known him without the means of getting a good dinner, but those means did not rise to the purchase of a new hat. Putting Quaverdale before him as an example, Annesley could not bring himself to choose literature as a profession.
If you can reconcile it to your conscience to discontinue it, do so. You would find that he would have to think twice about it." "He will stop it, and what am I to do then? Can I get an opening on any of these papers?" Quaverdale whistled, a mode of receiving the overture which was not pleasing to Annesley. "I don't suppose that anything so very super-human in the way of intellect is required."
He made his five or six hundred a year in a rattling, loose, uncertain sort of fashion, and was, so thought Harry Annesley, the dirtiest man of his acquaintance. He did not believe in the six hundred a year, or Quaverdale would certainly have changed his shirt more frequently, and would sometimes have had a new pair of trousers.
If he wanted any one else to have the property, he'd come out with something to show that the entail itself was all moonshine." "But when he married again at Nice, he couldn't have quarrelled with his eldest son already. The child was not above four or five months old." This came from Quaverdale.
He had seen two or three men, decidedly Bohemian in their modes of life, to whom he did not wish to assimilate himself. There was Quaverdale, whom he had known intimately at St. John's, and who was on the Press. Quaverdale had quarrelled absolutely with his father, who was also a clergyman, and having been thrown altogether on his own resources, had come out as a writer for The Coming Hour.
Annesley had got a fellowship, whereas Quaverdale had done nothing at the university. "Couldn't you make a pair of shoes? Shoemakers do get good wages." "What do you mean? A fellow never can get you to be serious for two minutes together. "I never was more serious in my life." "That I am to make shoes?" "No, I don't quite think that. I don't suppose you can make them.
Then Mountjoy got frightfully into the hands of the money-lenders, and in order to do them it became necessary that the whole property should go to Augustus." "They must look upon him as a nice sort of old man!" said Quaverdale. "Rather! But they have never got at him to speak a bit of their mind to him. And then how clever he was in getting round his own younger son.
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