Let me clear
his character. He is, like ourselves, very clever and very poor. He
is also not really at all fat; all that is stuffing. He is not
particularly old, and his name is not Cholmondeliegh. He is a
swindler, and a swindler of a perfectly delightful and novel kind.
He hires himself out at dinner-parties to lead up to other people's
repartees. According to a preconcerted scheme (which you may find
on that piece of paper), he says the stupid things he has arranged
for himself, and his client says the clever things arranged for
him. In short, he allows himself to be scored off for a guinea a
night."
"And this fellow Wimpole--" began Drummond with indignation.
"This fellow Wimpole," said Basil Grant, smiling, "will not be an
intellectual rival in the future. He had some fine things, elegance
and silvered hair, and so on. But the intellect is with our friend
on the floor."
"That fellow," cried Drummond furiously, "that fellow ought to be
in gaol."
"Not at all," said Basil indulgently; "he ought to be in the Club
of Queer Trades."
Chapter 3
The Awful Reason of the Vicar's Visit
The revolt of Matter against Man (which I believe to exist) has now
been reduced to a singular condition. It is the small things rather
than the large things which make war against us and, I may add,
beat us.
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