All the
idlers.''
Jane looked almost as uncomfortable as she felt. She had long
taken a secret delight in being regarded and spoken of as an
``upper class'' person. Henceforth this delight would be at
least alloyed.
``The middle class,'' pursued Victor, ``is those who are in part
parasites and in part workers. The lower class is those who live
by what they earn only. For example, you are upper class, your
father is middle class and I am lower class.''
``Thank you,'' said Jane demurely, ``for an interesting lesson in
political economy.''
``You invited it,'' laughed Victor. ``And I guess it wasn't much
more tiresome to you than talk about the weather would have been.
The weather's probably about the only other subject you and I
have in common.''
``That's rude,'' said Jane.
``Not as I meant it,'' said he. ``I wasn't exalting my subjects
or sneering at yours. It's obvious that you and I lead wholly
different lives.''
``I'd much rather lead your life than my own,'' said Jane.
``But--you are impatient to see father. You came to see him?''
``He telephoned asking me to come to dinner--that is, lunch. I
believe it's called lunch when it's second in this sort of
house.''
``Father calls it dinner, and I call it lunch, and the servants
call it IT. They simply say, `It's ready.' ''
Jane went in search of her father, found him asleep in his chair
in the little office, one of his dirty little account books
clasped in his long, thin fingers with their rheumatic side
curve.
Pages:
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120