ABASEMENT OF MR. HOOPDRIVER
She warmed. "I wish I were you to have the chance of that struggle."
"Am I Man enough?" said Mr. Hoopdriver aloud, but addressing himself. "There's that eight years," he said to her.
"You can make it up. What you call educated men— They're not going on. You can catch them. They are quite satisfied. Playing golf, and thinking of clever things to say to women like my stepmother, and dining out. You're in front of them already in one thing. They think they know everything. You don't. And they know such little things."
"Lord!" said Mr. Hoopdriver. "How you encourage a fellow!"
"If I could only help you," she said, and left an eloquent hiatus. He became pensive again.
"It's pretty evident you don't think much of a draper," he said abruptly.
Another interval. "Hundreds of men," she said, "have come from the very lowest ranks of life. There was Burns, a ploughman; and Hugh Miller, a stonemason; and plenty of others. Dodsley was a footman———"
"But drapers! We're too—sort of shabby genteel to rise. Our coats and cuffs might get crumpled———"
"Wasn't there a Clarke who wrote theology? He was a draper."
"There was one started a sewing cotton, the only one I ever heard tell of."
"Have you ever read 'Hearts Insurgent'?"
"Never," said Mr. Hoopdriver. He did not wait for her context, but suddenly broke out with an ac-
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