'
He moved towards the door, but before opening it stood hesitating.
'Want to get your hair cut, do you? Well, there's sixpence, and it's all I
can spare.'
The door closed. And the man at the table, leaning back, stared gloomily at
the sixpenny piece on the table before him.
His name was Topham; he had a university degree and a damaged reputation.
Six months ago, when his choice seemed to be between staying in the streets
and turning sandwich-man, luck had made him acquainted with Mr. Rudolph
Starkey, who wrote himself M.A. of Dublin University and advertised a
system of tuition by correspondence. In return for mere board and lodging
Topham became Mr. Starkey's assistant; that is to say, he did by far the
greater part of Mr. Starkey's work. The tutorial business was but
moderately successful; still, it kept its proprietor in cigarettes, and
enabled him to pass some hours a day at a club, where he was convinced that
before long some better chance in life would offer itself to him. Having
always been a lazy dog, Starkey regarded himself as an example of industry
unrewarded; being as selfish a fellow as one could meet, he reproached
himself with the unworldliness of his nature, which had so hindered him in
a basely material age.
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