When Quin went up to his room at eleven o'clock, his head was whirling
with statistics and other newly acquired facts, which he spent an hour
recording in his note-book.
It was not until he went to bed and lay staring into the darkness that
the mental tumult subsided and the moral tumult began. The questions that
he had resolutely kept in abeyance all evening began to dance in impish
insistence before him. What right had he to take Shields's place, when he
had said exactly the things that Shields had been fired for saying? Did
he want to go the way Shields had gone, compromising with his conscience
in order to keep his job, ashamed to face his fellow man, cringing,
remorseful, unhappy?
Then Mr. Bangs's arguments came back to him, specious, practical,
convincing. Business was like politics; you could keep out if you didn't
like it, but if you went in you must play the game as others played it or
lose out. Five hundred a month! Why, a fellow wouldn't be ashamed to ask
even a rich girl to marry him on that! The thought was balm to his pride.
As he lay there thinking, he was conscious of a disturbing sound in the
adjoining room, and he lifted his head to listen.
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