“In the interests of the Diplomatic Service and of the country I think not,” replied Arthur reflectively. “I feel that it is a case where true altruism becomes a duty.” “Then what do you mean to do with yourself?” “Don’t know. Live on my money, I suppose, and on that of my respected aunt after her lamented decease which, although I see no signs of it, she tells me she considers imminent.” “I don’t wonder, Arthur, with you hanging about the house. You ought to be ashamed of yourself. A man is made to work his way through the world, not to idle.” “Like a beetle boring through wood, not like a butterfly flitting over flowers; that’s what you mean, isn’t it? Well, butterflies are nicer than beetles, and some of us like flowers better than dead wood. But, I say, old chap, do you mean it?” “I do, and so does your aunt.” “Let us waive my aunt. Like the poor she is always with us, and I, alas! am well acquainted with her views, which are those of a past epoch. But I am not obstinate; tell me what to do and I’ll do it—anything except enter the Diplomatic Service, to lie abroad for the benefit of my country, in the words of the ancient saying.” “There is no fear of that, for you would never pass the examination,” said the practical Godfrey. “You see, you are too clever,” he added by way of explanation, “and too much occupied with a dozen things of which examiners take no account, the merits of the various religious systems, for instance.” “So are you,” interrupted Arthur. “I know I am; I love them. I’d like to talk to you about reincarnation and astronomy, of which I know something, and even astrology and the survival of the dead and lots of other things. But I have got to make my way in the world, and I’ve no time. You think me a heavy bore and an old fogey because I won’t go to parties to which lots of those nice fellows ask me. Do you suppose I shouldn’t like the parties and all the larks afterwards and the jolly actresses and the rest? Of course I should, for I’m a man like others. But I tell you I haven’t time. I’ve flouted my father, and I’m on my honour, so to speak, to justify myself and get on. So I mean to pass that tomfool examination and to cram down a lot of stuff in order to do so, which is of no more use to me than though I had swallowed so much brown paper. Fool-stuff, pulped by fools to be the food of fools—that’s what it is. And now I’m going to shove some spoonfuls of it down my throat, so light your pipe, and please be quiet.” “One moment more of your precious time,” interrupted Arthur. “What is the exact career that you propose to adorn? Something foreign, I think—Indian Civil Service?” “No, as I have told you a dozen times, Indian Army.”