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draper's assistant. Not much, is it? A counter-jumper."
"A draper's assistant isn't a position to be ashamed of," she said,
recovering, and not quite understanding yet what this all meant.
"Yes, it is," he said, "for a man, in this country now. To be just
another man's hand, as I am. To have to wear what clothes you are told,
and go to church to please customers, and work--There's no other kind of
men stand such hours. A drunken bricklayer's a king to it."
"
"
"
"
But why are you telling me this now?"
It's important you should know at once."
But, Mr. Benson--"
That isn't all. If you don't mind my speaking about myself a bit,
there's a few things I'd like to tell you. I can't go on deceiving you.
My name's not Benson. WHY I told you Benson, I DON'T know. Except that
I'm a kind of fool. Well--I wanted somehow to seem more than I was. My
name's Hoopdriver."
"Yes?"
"And that about South Africa--and that lion."
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