"I suppose Barbara is more useful to the community that steam yachts or
racing stables; but there, you see, I hate yachting because I'm always
sea-sick, and I scarcely know which end of a horse you put the bridle
on. Every man to his job. This is mine. I like it."
"I wonder whether holding down people suffering from _delirium tremens_
is my job," said I. "If so, I'm afraid I shan't like it."
"If it's really your job," replied Campion, "you will. You must. You
can't help it. God made man so."
It was only an hour or two later when, for the first time in my life, I
came into practical touch with human misery, that I recognised the truth
of Campion's perfervid optimism. No one could like our task that night
in its outer essence. For a time it revolted me. The atmosphere of
the close, dirty room, bedroom, kitchen, dining-room, sitting-room,
bathroom, laundry--all in one, the home of man, wife and two children,
caught me by the throat. It was sour. The physical contact with the
flesh of the unclean, gibbering, shivering, maniacal brute on the foul
bed was unutterably repugnant to me.
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