He’s got no muscle—he’s got a back that would break if he stooped—he’d always have a cold in his nose—
CHARLEY. Shut it, Leslie. You can’t call Tennant exactly anæmic. And look at this. [He strips off his coat and turns back his shirt sleeves to display his arms.] How’s that?
TENNANT looks on with interest. LESLIE comes near and pinches CHARLEY’S arm, while PERCY MASSEY looks on smilingly.
LESLIE. All right for a back garden. I suppose you think you’re an authority on the land question ’cause you grow sweet peas?
CHARLEY. [digging his hands into the pockets without turning down his sleeves again.] I don’t think anything of the kind. What I do know is that if I had a chance I could farm land with anybody. Do you think I chose this beastly business of quill-driving because it’s the best work I know. Do you?
LESLIE. I don’t suppose you chose it at all. Your father chose it for you.
PERCY. [to CHARLEY.] Well, I say, what’s the matter with it?
CHARLEY. You wait till you’re a few years older.
LESLIE. Wilson’s caught the land fever. Take up an allotment—that’ll cure you. Your garden isn’t big enough. Have you got that map, Tennant?