"
"A man should know his own worth," grumbled Rinaldo, "if only in
self-defence on pay-day."
"'Tis notorious, my dear Rinaldo, that your mere artist never does.
Intent upon expressing self, he misses the detachment which alone is
Olympian; whereas the critic--Tell me, why is an architect
architectonic? Because he sits in his parlour, pushing the brown
sherry and chatting with his clients, while his clerks express their
souls for him in a back office. This lesson, O Badcocchio, I learnt
from an uncle of mine, who had amassed a tidy competence by thus
vicariously erecting a quite incredible number of villa residences
for retired tradesmen in the midlands--to be precise, in and around
Wolverhampton. I say vicariously, for on his deathbed it brought him
inexpressible comfort that he himself had not designed these things.
"He was in many respects a remarkable man, and came near to being a
great one. His name originally was Lorenzo Smith, to which in later
years he added that of Desborough--partly for euphony, partly because
the initials made to his mind a pleasing combination, partly also in
pursuance of his theory of life, that he best succeeds who makes
others work for him.
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