'It's curious,' she once said to Betty, as they left the depot together, 'they're so much alike.' 'I suppose they are,' said Betty. 'I wonder why?' 'I'm not sure,' said Victoria, 'but it seems to me somehow that they must be born different but that they become alike because they do the same kind of work.' 'It's rather awful, isn't it,' said Betty. 'Awful? Well, I suppose it is. Think of it, Betty. There's old Dry Toast, for instance. I'm sure he's been doing whatever he does do for thirty or forty years.' 'And'll go on doing it till he dies,' murmured Betty. 'Or goes into the workhouse,' added Victoria. A sudden and horrible lucidity had come over her. 'Yes, Betty, that's what it means. The boys are going to be like the old man; we see them every day becoming like him. First they're in the twenties and are smart and read the sporting news; then they seem to get fat and don't shave every day, because they feel it's getting late and it doesn't matter what they look like; their hair grows grey, they take up chess or German, or something equally ridiculous. They don't get a chance. They're born and as soon as they can kick they're thrust in an office to do the same thing every day. Nobody cares; all their employers want them to do is to be punctual and do what they're paid thirty bob a week for. Soon they don't try; they die, and the employers fill the billet.' 'How do you know all this, Vic?' said Betty, eyeing her fearfully. 'It seems so true.' 'Oh, I just felt it suddenly, besides . . .' Victoria hesitated. 'But is it right that they should get thirty bob a week all their lives while their employers are getting thousands?' asked Betty, full of excitement. 'I don't know,' said Victoria slowly. Betty's voice had broken the charm. She could no longer see the vision. CHAPTER XXI