He looked at me, at the shoes, at the wet basket on his knees, but nothing elaborate seemed to occur to him. He said:
“A'right.” He had great mental directness. I had reached that point in the progress of young philosophy where the avoidance of fussiness takes the character of a broad doctrine: a certain Doric attitude was desired. Tobin seemed to me to have that attitude.
“If I give you the money, will you buy shoes or cigarettes?”
“Shoes.”
“Here, then. Got anything to say?”
He put the bill into his pocket, and said:
“Yep, I'll buy 'em.”
His attitude was better than mine. The common wish to be thanked was pure fussiness.
“Well, look here. You bring me back the old ones.”
Even that did not disturb him. The Doric attitude never questions other men's indifferent whims.