The stained-glass man placed his hands within his pockets, and his bright glance swept over his companion.
“A fellow must have a hobby to give him an interest in life,” he said.
“An interest in life?” repeated Shelton grimly; “life itself is good enough for me.”
“Oh!” replied the stained-glass man, as though he disapproved of regarding life itself as interesting.
“That's all very well, but you want something more than that. Why don't you take up woodcarving?”
“Wood-carving?”
“The moment I get fagged with office papers and that sort of thing I take up my wood-carving; good as a game of hockey.”
“I have n't the enthusiasm.”
The eyebrows of the stained-glass man twitched; he twisted his moustache.
“You 'll find not having a hobby does n't pay,” he said; “you 'll get old, then where 'll you be?”