'
'In one way, of course, I have managed it. My life is insured for
five hundred pounds. But that is no provision for possible
disablement. If I could no longer earn money with my pen, what
would become of me?'
Marian could have made an encouraging reply, but did not venture
to utter her thoughts.
'Sit down,' said her father. 'You are not to work for a few days,
and I myself shall be none the worse for a morning's rest. Poor
old Hinks! I suppose we shall help him among us, somehow.
Quarmby, of course, is comparatively flourishing. Well, we have
been companions for a quarter of a century, we three. When I
first met Quarmby I was a Grub Street gazetteer, and I think he
was even poorer than I. A life of toil! A life of toil!'
'That it has been, indeed.'
'By-the-bye'--he threw an arm over the back of his chair--'what
did you think of our imaginary review, the thing we were talking
about last night?'
'There are so many periodicals,' replied Marian, doubtfully.
'So many? My dear child, if we live another ten years we shall
see the number trebled.
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