I lack"-- "Art," McGlenn suggested.

"But for you there is a chance.

John Richmond is hopelessly gone." "I sometimes feed my dogs on stewed tripe," said Whittlesy, "and the good that it does them teaches me that man is to be judged largely by what he eats." "There is absolutely no use for all this bloody rot," Mortimer declared.

"Eating is essential, of course, but I don't see how men can talk for an hour on the subject, and talk foolishly, at that." "If eating is essential," Richmond replied, "it is a wonder that you don't kick against it." "Ah, but isn't it a good thing that I don't kick against non-essentials?
Wouldn't I be obliged to kick against this assemblage and its beastly rot ?" Mortimer sometimes emphasized his walk with a peculiar springiness of step, and with this emphasis he walked off, biting the stem of his pipe.
"I thought that by this time you would begin to show a weariness of the Press Club," McGlenn said to Henry.
"I don't see why you should have thought that.

I said at first that I was one of you." "Yes, but I didn't know but by this time you might have discovered your mistake." "I made no mistake, and therefore could discover none.