“You must get some kind of routine work,” he declared--“enough to support you. You can’t expect to live by your writing.” “But if I do that, I can’t write!” cried Thyrsis. “You’ll have to do the best you can,” said the other. “But I can’t do _anything!_ The emotions of it eat me all up. I daren’t even let myself think about my work when I have to do other things.” “I should think,” commented the professor, “that you would find you are still more hindered by the uncertainties of hack-work.” “I do find that,” the boy replied. “That is just what is the matter with me.” “I’m afraid you’ll be forced to a compromise in the end.” “But I won’t! I won’t!” cried Thyrsis, wildly. “I will starve first!” The other said nothing. “Or I will beg!” added Thyrsis. The other’s look clouded slightly--as the boy, with his quick sensitiveness, noted instantly. “Of course,” said the professor, “if you are not ashamed to do that--” “But why should I be ashamed? Greater men than I have begged for their art.” “Yes. I know that. And naturally--I honor that feeling in you. If you have that much fervor--why, of course, you will do it. But I’m afraid you’ll find it a humiliating experience.” “I wouldn’t expect to find it a picnic,” answered Thyrsis, and took his departure--having perceived that the professor’s leading thought was a fear lest he should begin his begging that day. So there it was! There was the eminent critic, the writer of exquisite appreciations of literature! The darling of the salons of Boston--which called itself the Athens of America and the hub of the universe! A man with a brain full of all the culture of the ages--and with the heart of a mummy and the soul of a snob! He had approved of Thyrsis’ consecration with his lips--because he did not dare to disapprove it, because the ghosts of a thousand paupers of genius had stood over him and awed him into silence. But in his secret heart he had despised this wan and haggard boy who threatened to beg; and the boy went out of the palace of luxury, feeling like an outcast rat. Section 7. From this interview Thyrsis went to meet Corydon in the park; and after he had told her what had happened, they began one more discussion of their great problem. This had to be the final one; for the month of respite had passed, and the time for action was come! Through their long arguments, Thyrsis had gradually come to realize that the decision rested with him. Corydon was in his hands; she had become a burden upon him, and she would rather she were dead; and so he had to take the responsibility and issue the command. So through many an hour while Corydon slept he had marshalled the facts and tested them, hungering with all his soul for knowledge of the right.