‘He does good, though, doesn’t he?’
asked Madame.
‘See advertisement,’ scoffed Calton.
’Oh, yes! he will give thousands of pounds for
any public object, but private charity is a waste
of money in his eyes.’
‘You are very hard on him,’ said Madame
Midas, with a laugh.
‘Ah! Mr Calton believes as I do,’
cried Vandeloup, ’that it’s no good having
friends unless you’re privileged to abuse them.’
‘It’s one you take full advantage of,
then,’ observed Kitty, saucily.
‘I always take what I can get,’ he returned,
mockingly; whereon she shivered, and Calton saw it.
‘Ah!’ said that astute reader of character
to himself, ’there’s something between
those two. ’Gad! I’ll cross-examine
my French friend.’
They said good-night to the ladies, and walked to
the St Kilda station, from thence took the train to
town, and Calton put into force his cross-examination.
He might as well have tried his artful questions on
a rock as on Vandeloup, for that clever young gentleman
saw through the barrister at once, and baffled him
at every turn with his epigrammatic answers and consummate
coolness.
‘I confess,’ said Calton, when they said
good-night to one another, ‘I confess you puzzle
me.’
‘Language,’ observed M. Vandeloup, with
a smile, ’was given to us to conceal our thoughts.
Good night!’
And they parted.
‘The comedy is over for the night,’ thought
Gaston as he walked along, ’and it was so true
to nature that the spectators never thought it was
art.’
He was wrong, for Calton did.
A PROFESSIONAL PHILANTHROPIST
We have professional diners-out, professional beauties,
professional Christians, then why not professional
philanthropists? This brilliant century of ours
has nothing to do with the word charity, as it savours
too much of stealthy benevolence, so it has substituted
in its place the long word philanthropy, which is much
more genteel and comprehensive. Charity, the meekest
of the Christian graces, has been long since dethroned,
and her place is taken by the blatant braggard Philanthropy,
who does his good deeds in a most ostentatious manner,
and loudly invites the world to see his generosity,
and praise him for it. Charity, modestly hooded,
went into the houses of the poor, and tendered her
gifts with smiles. Philanthropy now builds almshouses
and hospitals, and rails at poverty if it has too
much pride to occupy them. And what indeed, has
poverty to do with pride?—it’s far
too sumptuous and expensive an article, and can only
be possessed by the rich, who can afford to wear it
because it is paid for. Mr Meddlechip was rich,
so he bought a large stock of pride, and wore it everywhere.
It was not personal pride—he was not good-looking;
it was not family pride—he never had a
grandfather; nor was it pecuniary pride—he
