"I can easily believe it. And was he anxious to steal the gunpowder
and put it on the fire, or did he have to be persuaded?"
Veronica admitted that in the qualities of a first-class hero he was
wanting. Not till it had been suggested to him that he must at heart
be a cowardy cowardy custard had he been moved to take a hand in the
enterprise.
"A lad, clearly," I continued, "that left to himself would be a
comfort to his friends. And the story of the robbers--your invention
or his?"
Veronica was generously of opinion that he might have thought of it
had he not been chiefly concerned at the moment with the idea of
getting home to his mother. As it was, the clothing with romance of
incidents otherwise bald and uninteresting had fallen upon her.
"The good child of the story. The fact stands out at every point.
His one failing an amiable weakness. Do you not see it for yourself;
Veronica? In the book, you, not he, would have tumbled over the mat.
In this wicked world it is the wicked who prosper. He, the innocent,
the virtuous, is torn into rags. You, the villain of the story,
escape."
"I see," said Veronica; "then whenever nothing happens to you that
means that you're a wrong 'un."
"I don't go so far as to say that, Veronica. And I wish you wouldn't
use slang. Dick is a man, and a man--well, never mind about a man.
You, Veronica, must never forget that you're a lady. Justice must
not be looked for in this world.
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