‘The governor,’ thus referred to in latter-day speech, ‘had made “pots of money”—it had been all right for _him_ to work and slave in the queer early times that old buffers yarned about. He was bound to do it, of course, or go under. But they were _not_—that made all the difference. They were sorry to disagree with him—he wasn’t half bad, the old governor—in fact, a dashed good sort. But he wasn’t up to date! He had no idea of how a chap had to chuck the coin about, to keep in the front rank, nowadays. He _must_ have the necessaries of life. Think of what polo costs! You couldn’t get a decent pony under fifty or sixty quid; then you must have a boy—a smart one too; two ponies were little enough—safer to have four, in case of accidents. Fellah must be decently dressed if he goes out at all—and tailors, if they were any good, charged such infernal prices! He’d a fairish allowance, but last Cup Day made a hole in it’—and so on—and so on.
This was the way the sons of his old friends talked; this was the way they acted—sad to relate. He heard them at the clubs—where they came down late for breakfast, looking as if they required a ‘strongish nip’ to steady their nerves. They confessed with cheerful confidence that ‘supper after the theatre had not been conducive to appetite. They really intended to take a pull some day—perhaps get married. But, really, Sydney and Melbourne had become such infernally dull holes that there was nothing to keep a fellow from goin’ to sleep except bridge and billiards—which didn’t always pay.’
Would it not be worth while to try politics for a little excitement? was suggested. There was the landed interest to develop legitimately—or indeed to defend. A wave of socialism had arisen, was indeed likely to become a tidal wave if no effort was made to arrest the doctrine of which among the earliest expositors was the late lamented John Cade.
‘What!’ cries ‘the heir of all the ages’—‘mug up Goldwin Smith, Herbert Spencer, and those other Johnnies—to rub shoulders with a lot of fellows that drop their _h_’s all over the shop? Shouldn’t get in, for one thing—and, if I did, why there’s hardly a gentleman in the whole caboodle!’
‘Whose fault is that?’ queried the senior. ‘Have you ever tried?—or have any young men of your class, except Wharton and Conyers, and what are they among so many?’