The afternoon dragged for Ken. For the first time since he could remember, his work bored him and he caught himself continually looking at the wall clock.
The stale, baked air coming in from the street, the roar of the traffic and the hot, sweating faces of his customers irritated him.
“A perfect evening to cut a lawn,” Parker said with a grin as the messenger closed the doors of the bank. “You’ll sweat like a horse.”
Ken didn’t say anything. He began to check his cash.
“You want to get organized, Holland,” Parker went on. “There are plenty of able-bodied men who’ll cut your lawn while you go out and enjoy yourself.”
“Skip it, will you?” Ken said shortly. “You’re not even being funny.”
Parker eyed him thoughtfully, sighed and shook his head.
“You poor guy! You don’t know what you’re missing.”
They worked in silence until both had checked their cash, then Parker said, “If you’ve brought your car, you can drive me home.”
Parker lived in a road next to Ken’s; and although Ken didn’t want any more of his company, he couldn’t refuse.