“Ah, that’s very annoying. I suppose you were overworked.”
“I didn’t have a natural appetite—nor even an unnatural, when they fixed up things for me. I took no interest in my food.”
“Well, I guess you’ll both eat and sleep here,” I felt justified in remarking.
“I couldn’t hold a pen,” my neighbour went on. “I couldn’t sit still. I couldn’t walk from my house to the cars—and it’s only a little way. I lost my interest in business.”
“You needed a good holiday,” I concluded.
“That’s what the doctors said. It wasn’t so very smart of them. I had been paying strict attention to business for twenty-three years.”
“And in all that time you had never let up?” I cried in horror.
My companion waited a little. “I kind o’ let up Sundays.”
“Oh that’s nothing—because our Sundays themselves never let up.”