Parsons--all sorts. Say
nothing about it--"
"But if I'm asked?"
"Church of England. Every man in this country who has not dissented
belongs to the Church of England. It'll be hard enough to get you
anything without that."
"But--" said Mr. Lewisham. "It's lying."
"Legal fiction," said Mr. Blendershin. "Everyone understands. If you
don't do that, my dear chap, we can't do anything for you. It's
Journalism, or London docks. Well, considering your experience,--say
docks."
Lewisham's face flushed irregularly. He did not answer. He scowled and
tugged at the still by no means ample moustache.
"Compromise, you know," said Mr. Blendershin, watching him
kindly. "Compromise."
For the first time in his life Lewisham faced the necessity of telling
a lie in cold blood. He glissaded from, the austere altitudes of his
self-respect, and his next words were already disingenuous.
"I won't promise to tell lies if I'm asked," he said aloud. "I can't
do that."
"Scratch it out," said Blendershin to the clerk. "You needn't mention
it. Then you don't say you can teach drawing."
"I can't," said Lewisham.
"You just give out the copies," said Blendershin, "and take care they
don't see you draw, you know."
"But that's not teaching drawing--"
"It's what's understood by it in _this_ country," said Blendershin.
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