I want somebody else to bother about my rates and taxes, my children's boots, while I sit in an easy-chair and dream about the wonderful books I am going to write, if only a stupid public would let me.

Tommy Smith of Brixton feels that he was intended for higher things.

He does not want to be wasting his time in an office from nine to six adding up figures.
His proper place in life is that of Prime Minister or Field Marshal: he feels it.

Do you think the man has no yearning for higher things?
Do you think we like the office, the shop, the factory?
We ought to be writing poetry, painting pictures, the whole world admiring us.

You seem to imagine your man goes off every morning to a sort of City picnic, has eight hours' fun--which he calls work--and then comes home to annoy you with chatter about dinner.
It is the old fable reversed; man said woman had nothing to do all day but to enjoy herself.