“I’m looking for work,” he said diffidently—“Farm work, I mean.”
“You!” shouted Mr. Laurison. “Why, you never did any work in your life. Look at them hands!”
“Pretty brown, I think they are,” answered Brydell complacently, examining his own hands.
“Yes,” said Mr. Laurison; “but they’re brown with the playin’ of tennis and football and such. Any fool can see by your hands you ain’t done any work.”
“But I want to do some work.”
“For what?”
“For money, for a living.”
“Ain’t you got any friends or family?”
“I have a father. He’s in the navy and away off in the Pacific. I haven’t any friend that can help me.”
“And has your father thrown you off?”