“‘I’m halberdiering for my living,’ says the statue. ‘I’m working,’ says he. ‘I don’t suppose you know what work means.’
“‘Have you—have you lost your money?’ she asks
“Sir Percival studies a minute.
“‘I am poorer,’ says he, ‘than the poorest sandwich man on the streets—if I don’t earn my living.’
“‘You call this work?’ says she. ‘I thought a man worked with his hands or his head instead of becoming a mountebank.’
“‘The calling of a halberdier,’ says he, ‘is an ancient and honourable one. Sometimes,’ says he, ‘the man-at-arms at the door has saved the castle while the plumed knights were cake-walking in the banquet-halls above.’
“‘I see you’re not ashamed,’ says she, ‘of your peculiar tastes. I wonder, though, that the manhood I used to think I saw in you did n’t prompt you to draw water or hew wood instead of publicly flaunting your ignominy in this disgraceful masquerade.’
“Sir Percival kind of rattles his armour and says: ‘Helen, will you suspend sentence in this matter for just a little while? You don’t understand,’ says he. ‘I’ve got to hold this job down a bit longer.’
“‘You like being a harlequin—or halberdier, as you call it?’ says she.
“‘I would n’t get thrown out of the job just now,’ says he, with a grin, ‘to be appointed Minister to the Court of St. James’s.’
“And then the 40 H.-P. girl’s eyes sparkled as hard as diamonds.
