I
sometimes think," he went on as dreamily as his hunger would permit,
"that being forced to deprive oneself awakens one's worst passions; that
is, of course, speaking rather as a man than a public man. What do
you think will happen, Joe, when we are no longer obliged to sacrifice
ourselves?
"Do wot we've been doin all along--sacrifice someone else," said Joe
lightly.
"Be serious, Joe," said Mr. Lavender.
"Well," returned Joe, "I don't know what'll 'appen to you, sir, but I
shall go on the bust permanent."
Mr. Lavender sighed. "I do so wonder whether I shall, too," he said.
Joe looked round at him, and a gleam of compassion twinkled in his
greenish eyes. "Don't you worry, sir," he said; "it's a question of
constitootion. A week'd sew you up."
"A week!" said Mr. Lavender with watering lips, "I trust I may not
forget myself so long as that. Public men do not go 'on the bust,' Joe,
as you put it."
"Be careful, sir! I can't drive with one eye."
"How can they, indeed?" went on Mr. Lavender; "they are like athletes,
ever in training for their unending conflict with the national life."
"Well," answered Joe indulgently, "they 'as their own kind of
intoxication, too--that's true; and the fumes is permanent; they're
gassed all the time, and chloroformed the rest.
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