'No, I'd not do that,' said Dick gravely, 'nor shall I stay long myself.
Don't go to bed, Joe, till I come back. Good-bye.'

'Say all good and sweet things to Letty for me. Tell her--' Kearney did not
wait for his message, but hurried down the steps and drove off.

Joe sat down at the fire, filled his pipe, looked steadily at it, and then
laid it on the mantel-piece. 'No, no, Master Joe. You must be thrifty now.
You have smoked twice since--I can afford to say--since dinner-time, for
you haven't dined. It is strange, now that the sense of hunger has passed
off, what a sense of excitement I feel. Two hours back I could have been a
cannibal. I believe I could have eaten the vice-provost--though I should
have liked him strongly devilled--and now I feel stimulated. Hence it is,
perhaps, that so little wine is enough to affect the heads of starving
people--almost maddening them. Perhaps Dick suspected something of this,
for he did not care that I should go along with him. Who knows but he may
have thought the sight of a supper might have overcome me. If he knew but
all. I'm much more disposed to make love to Letty Clancy than to go in for
galantine and champagne. By the way, I wonder if the physiologists are
aware of that? It is, perhaps, what constitutes the ethereal condition of
love. I'll write an essay on that, or, better still, I'll write a review of
an imaginary French essay. Frenchmen are permitted to say so much more than
we are, and I'll be rebukeful on the score of his excesses. The bitter way
in which a Frenchman always visits his various incapacities--whether it be
to know something, or to do something, or to be something--on the species
he belongs to; the way in which he suggests that, had he been consulted on
the matter, humanity had been a much more perfect organisation, and able
to sustain a great deal more of wickedness without disturbance, is great
fun. I'll certainly invent a Frenchman, and make him an author, and then
demolish him. What if I make him die of hunger, having tasted nothing for