"
"I don't think I would take up one bit more time as your friend than I
do now," said Fifi, in a plaintive voice.
Queed, uncomfortably aware of the flying minutes, felt like saying that
that was impossible.
"Oh, I know what I'm talking about, I assure you," said the possessor of
two friends in New York. "I have threshed the whole question out in a
practical way."
"Suppose," said Fifi, "your book came out and you were very famous, but
all alone in the world, without a friend. And you died and there was not
one single person to cry and miss you--would you think that was a--a
successful life?"
"Oh, I suppose so! Yes, yes!"
"But don't--don't you want to have people like you and be your friend?"
"My dear young lady, it is not a question of what I want. I was not put
here in the world to frivol through a life of gross pleasure. I have
serious work to do in the service of humankind, and I can do it only by
rigid concentration and ruthless elimination of the unessential. Surely
you can grasp that?"
"But--if you died to-morrow," said Fifi, fearfully fascinated by this
aspect of the young man's majestic isolation,--"don't you know of
anybody who'd be really and truly sorry?"
"Really, I've never thought of it, but doubtless my two friends in New
York would be sorry after their fashion.
Pages:
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194