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stand, except when they fetched the ponies up. I’m sure it’s
a funny world, you don’t know where you are from year to
year, you really don’t.’
It was Mrs Bolton’s talk that really put a new fight into
Clifford. His income, as she pointed out to him, was secure,
from his father’s trust, even though it was not large. The pits
did not really concern him. It was the other world he want-
ed to capture, the world of literature and fame; the popular
world, not the working world.
Now he realized the distinction between popular suc-
cess and working success: the populace of pleasure and the
populace of work. He, as a private individual, had been ca-
tering with his stories for the populace of pleasure. And he
had caught on. But beneath the populace of pleasure lay the
populace of work, grim, grimy, and rather terrible. They too
had to have their providers. And it was a much grimmer
business, providing for the populace of work, than for the
populace of pleasure. While he was doing his stories, and
‘getting on’ in the world, Tevershall was going to the wall.
He realized now that the bitch-goddess of Success had
two main appetites: one for flattery, adulation, stroking and
tickling such as writers and artists gave her; but the other
a grimmer appetite for meat and bones. And the meat and
bones for the bitch-goddess were provided by the men who
made money in industry.
Yes, there were two great groups of dogs wrangling for
the bitch-goddess: the group of the flatterers, those who of-
fered her amusement, stories, films, plays: and the other,
much less showy, much more savage breed, those who gave

1 Lady Chatterly’s Lover