“No doubt,” Lawless answered. “But it becomes assertive when a man neglects to give it work. And now, Mr Burton, I won’t keep you waiting any longer. Your patience has stood a test this morning that mine would not bear so well.”
“Indeed, I have been well entertained,” the other assured him.
“In watching the exhibition of a man’s eating prowess! You are more easily amused than I am.”
“I imagine that to be so. I belong to a generation that enjoyed simpler pleasures than you men of the present day. But I fancy we who took pleasure in simple things got more joy out of life... I may be wrong.”
“Joy! There’s precious little joy in life that I can see,” Lawless replied, and rose, scraping his chair noisily upon the carpetless floor. The little man looked at him earnestly.
“I am not a philosopher,” he said, “nor have I over much learning—just enough for the exercise of my profession, and no more. But I can tell you the reason you find no joy in life; it is because you don’t know where to look for it. Joy lies in ourselves.”
Lawless laughed shortly.
“I’m not a likely sort of subject to harbour joy,” he returned.
“Why not?” the other said quite simply... “You shut the door in her face, my friend, or she would find her way in fast enough. Give her a chance.”
He took up his hat, and lighted his old meerschaum pipe before going out.