Both young men paused for a moment.They made no demonstrations.
But the strain was at an end between them.
"I've thought it all out," Billy went on with a sudden buoyancy.
"We two are both of the same kind of men.Only you see, Benham, you have a natural pride and I haven't.You have pride.But we are both intellectuals.We both belong to what the Russians call the Intelligentsia.We have ideas, we have imagination, that is our strength.And that is our weakness.That makes us moral light-weights.We are flimsy and uncertain people.All intellectuals are flimsy and uncertain people.It's not only that they are critical and fastidious; they are weak-handed.They look about them; their attention wanders.Unless they have got a habit of controlling themselves and forcing themselves and holding themselves together.""The habit of pride."
"Yes.And then--then we are lords of the world.""All this, Billy," said Benham, "I steadfastly believe.""I've seen it all now," said Prothero."Lord! how clearly I see it!
The intellectual is either a prince or he is a Greek slave in a Roman household.He's got to hold his chin up or else he becomes--even as these dons we see about us--a thing that talks appointments, a toady, a port-wine bibber, a mass of detail, a conscious maker of neat sayings, a growing belly under a dwindling brain.Their gladness is drink or gratified vanity or gratified malice, their sorrow is indigestion or--old maid's melancholy.They are the lords of the world who will not take the sceptre....And what I want to say to you, Benham, more than anything else is, YOU go on--YOUmake yourself equestrian.You drive your horse against Breeze's, and go through the fire and swim in the ice-cold water and climb the precipice and drink little and sleep hard.And--I wish I could do so too.""But why not?"
"Because I can't.Now I admit I've got shame in my heart and pride in my head, and I'm strung up.I might do something--this afternoon.But it won't last.YOU--you have pride in your bones.
My pride will vanish at a laugh.My honour will go at a laugh.I'm just exalted by a crisis.That's all.I'm an animal of intelligence.Soul and pride are weak in me.My mouth waters, my cheek brightens, at the sight of good things.And I've got a lickerish tail, Benham.You don't know.You don't begin to imagine.I'm secretive.But I quiver with hot and stirring desires.And I'm indolent--dirty indolent.Benham, there are days when I splash my bath about without getting into it.There are days when I turn back from a walk because there's a cow in the field....
But, I spare you the viler details....And it's that makes me hate fine people and try so earnestly to persuade myself that any man is as good as any man, if not a trifle better.Because I know it isn't so....""Billy," said Benham, "you've the boldest mind that ever I met."Prothero's face lit with satisfaction.Then his countenance fell again."I know I'm better there," he said, "and yet, see how I let in a whole system of lies to cover my secret humiliations.There, at least, I will cling to pride.I will at least THINK free and clean and high.But you can climb higher than I can.You've got the grit to try and LIVE high.There you are, Benham."Benham stuck one leg over the arm of his chair."Billy," he said, "come and be--equestrian and stop this nonsense.""No."
"Damn it--you DIVE!"
"You'd go in before me if a woman was drowning.""Nonsense.I'm going to ride.Come and ride too.You've a cleverer way with animals than I have.Why! that horse I was driving the other day would have gone better alone.I didn't drive it.I just fussed it.I interfered.If I ride for ever, I shall never have decent hands, I shall always hang on my horse's mouth at a gallop, I shall never be sure at a jump.But at any rate I shall get hard.Come and get hard too.""You can," said Billy, "you can.But not I! Heavens, the TROUBLEof it! The riding-school! The getting up early! No!--for me the Trumpington Road on foot in the afternoon.Four miles an hour and panting.And my fellowship and the combination-room port.And, besides, Benham, there's the expense.I can't afford the equestrian order.""It's not so great."
"Not so great! I don't mean the essential expense.But--the incidentals.I don't know whether any one can realize how a poor man is hampered by the dread of minor catastrophes.It isn't so much that he is afraid of breaking his neck, Benham, as that he is afraid of breaking something he will have to pay for.For instance--.
Benham! how much did your little expedition the other day--?"He stopped short and regarded his friend with round eyes and raised eyebrows.
A reluctant grin overspread Benham's face.He was beginning to see the humour of the affair.
"The claim for the motor-bicycle isn't sent in yet.The repair of the mudguards of the car is in dispute.Trinity Hall's crockery, the plate-glass window, the whip-lash and wheel and so forth, the hire of the horse and trap, sundry gratuities....I doubt if the total will come very much under fifty pounds.And I seem to have lost a hat somewhere."Billy regarded his toes and cleared his throat.
"Depending as I do on a widowed mother in Brixton for all the expenditure that isn't covered by my pot-hunting--""Of course," said Benham, "it wasn't a fair sample afternoon.""Still--"
"There's footer," said Benham, "we might both play footer.""Or boxing."
