PARTISAN REVIEW
"Yes," said Ferdinand, "there are all kinds of versions. We can
say: 'I am not in the least interested in that. Just tell me one thing:
What's his salary?'
Or if we want to make him look unimportant:
'What you have just told me leaves me absolutely cold. What I want
to know is:
What are his wages?'
.And then again,
<Precisely how
much cash has he in the bank?'"
"'How much is his yearly compensation?'"
shouted Laura from
the kitchen, preparing the midnight supper, but never failing to
listen to
all
that was said.
"It
is one of the most heartbreaking sentences of our time,"
Jacob Cohen declared in a low voice, "and if it brings one to tears,
the tears are obviously for Edmund's mother and not for Israel
Brown."
"I don't notice anyone refusing any money," said Laura, bring–
ing coffee, tea, and cocoa to the table, "except for Jacob." Jacob
had refused to accept an allowance from his father and he had re–
fused a job in the family business in which his older brothers pros–
pered exceedingly. He had explained that he was going to be what
he wanted to
be
or he was going to be nothing.
"It is easy enough to do nothing," said Jacob, seating himself
at the dinner table. He did not like to have anyone's attention fixed
upon what, in his being, was most intimate and most important.
"The difficult virtue," said Rudyard, "is to disregard the pos–
sibility of making money, to live such a life that making money will
have no influence upon one's mind, heart, and imagination."
As
he
spoke, he was hardly aware that he was thinking chiefly of himself.
"You can't write plays for money, you just don't know how," said
Laura, "so you don't have any temptation to resist: that's no virtue."
Laura's love and admiration of her brother did not prevent her from
attempting to overthrow the attitudes in which Rudyard took the
most pride. This was the way in which she tried to defend herself
from the intensity of her love and the profundity of her acceptance
of him.
Rudyard did not answer her. His mind had shifted to his own
work, and he took from the shelf the manuscript book in which his
last play was written, seated himself upon the studio couch, and
studied his own work, a look of smiling seriousness upon his face.
The other boys were seated at the dinner table, slowly eating
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