"'Tis true," said Sir Edward to himself, yet half aloud, "the
contact of the Foul and the Disgusting mars the general effect of
the Shiny and the Beautiful--and, yet, why am I here? I repeat it,
calmly and deliberately--why am I here? Ha! Boy!"
The Boy looked up--his dark Italian eyes glanced intelligently at
the Philosopher, and as with one hand he tossed back his glossy
curls, from his marble brow, and with the other he spread the
equally glossy Day & Martin over the Baronet's boot, he answered in
deep rich tones: "The Ideal is subjective to the Real. The
exercise of apperception gives a distinctiveness to idiocracy,
which is, however, subject to the limits of ME. You are an admirer
of the Beautiful, sir. You wish your boots blacked. The Beautiful
is attainable by means of the Coin."
"Ah," said Sir Edward thoughtfully, gazing upon the almost supernal
beauty of the Child before him; "you speak well. You have read
Kant."
The Boy blushed deeply. He drew a copy of Kant from his blouse,
but in his confusion several other volumes dropped from his bosom
on the ground. The Baronet picked them up.
"Ah!" said the Philosopher, "what's this? Cicero's De Senectute,
at your age, too? Martial's Epigrams, Caesar's Commentaries.
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