'Well, your penal system is bust. If you offend the law you're a criminal. But what's the law? the opinion of the majority. If the majority goes against the law, then the minority becomes criminal. The world's upside down.' Farwell smiled. 'The world's upside down,' he said softly, licking his lips. 'Give us a copper for a bed, guv'nor,' said the old man dully. 'What's the good of a bed to you?' exploded Farwell. 'Why don't you have a drink?' 'I'm a teetotaller, guv'nor; always kep' myself respectable.' 'Respectable! You're earning the wages of respectability, that is death,' said Farwell with a wolfish laugh. 'Why, man, can't you see you've been on the wrong tack? We don't want any more of you respectables. We want pirates, vampires. We want all this society of yours rotted by internal canker, so that we can build a new one. But we must rot it first. We aren't going to work on a sow's ear.' 'Give us a copper, guv'nor,' moaned the old man. Farwell took out sixpence and laid it on the seat. 'Now then,' he said, 'you can have this if you'll swear to blow it in drink.' 'I will, s'elp me Gawd,' said the old man eagerly. Farwell pushed the coin towards him. 'Take it, teetotaller,' he sneered, 'your respectable system of bribery has bought you for sixpence. Now let me see you go into that pub.' The old man clutched the sixpence and staggered to his feet. Farwell watched the swing doors of the public bar at the end of the passage close behind him. Then he got up and walked away; it was about time to go to Moorgate Street. As he entered the smoking-room, Victoria blushed. The man moved her, stimulated her. When she saw him she felt like a body meeting a soul. He sat down at his usual place. Victoria brought him his tea, and laid it before him without a word. Nelly, lolling in another corner, kicked the ground, looking away insolently from the elaborate wink of one of the scullions. 'Here, read these,' said Farwell, pushing two of the books across the table. Victoria picked them up. '_Looking Backwards?_' she said. 'Oh, I don't want to do that. It's forward I want to go.' 'A laudable sentiment,' sneered Farwell, 'the theory of every Sunday School in the country, and the practice of none. However, you'll find it fairly soul-filling as an unintelligent anticipation. Personally I prefer the other. _Demos_ is good stuff, for Gissing went through the fire.' Victoria quickly walked away. Farwell looked surprised for a second, then saw the manageress on the stairs. 'Faugh,' he muttered, 'if the world's a stage I'm playing the part of a low intriguer.' He sipped his tea meditatively. In a few minutes Victoria returned. 'Thank you,' she whispered. 'It's good of you. You're teaching me to live.' Farwell looked at her critically. 'I don't see much good in that,' he said, 'unless you've got something to live for. One of our philosophers says you live either for experience or the race. I recommend the former to myself, and to you nothing.'