He went to his club, a place which he rarely entered; it was full of
brisk and cheerful men, lunching with relish; some of them had hurried
in from their work, and were enjoying the hour of leisure; some were
the old frequenters of the place, men whose work in the world was over,
as well as men who had never known what it was to work. But these men,
even some who seemed crippled with age and infirmity, seemed as intent
upon their pleasures, as avid of news, as eager for conversation, as
particular about their food, as if their existence was of a supreme and
weighty importance, Hugh watched an elderly man, whom he knew by name,
who was said to be the most unoccupied man in London, who was
administering food and drink to himself with a serious air of delicate
zest, as though he were presiding benevolently at some work of charity
and mercy. He had certainly flourished on his idleness like a green
bay tree! Hugh was inclined to believe in the necessity to happiness
of the observance of some primal laws, like the law of labour, but here
was a contradiction to all his theories. He sighed to think of the
mountains of carefully prepared food that this rosy, well-brushed
person must have consumed in the course of his life! He was a
notoriously selfish man, who never laid out a penny except on his own
needs and pleasures. Yet here was he, guarded like the apple of God's
eye, and all the good things that the earth held--ease, comfort,
independence, health, honour, and the power of enjoyment--were heaped
upon him with a liberal hand. No wonder he thought so well of the
world! Hugh had heard him say, with an air of virtuous complacency,
that he was generally pretty comfortable.
Hugh did not grudge his luxurious ease to the great statesman who sate
in the corner, with an evening paper propped up on a silver dish, and
some iced compound bubbling pleasantly in his glass, smiling benignly
at a caricature of himself. He, at all events, paid for his comforts
by unremitting labour. But what of the sleek and goodly drones of the
hive?
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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