"No, sir! I've only been here a few minutes. I guess one of the fellows was in here before me. They're always swiping your coffin-nails. You ought to do something about it, pop. You ought to assert yourself."
A sense of helplessness came upon Mr. Pett. For the thousandth time he felt himself baffled by this calm, goggle-eyed boy who treated him with such supercilious coolness.
"You ought to be out in the open air this lovely morning," he said feebly.
"All right. Let's go for a walk. I will if you will."
"I—I have other things to do," said Mr. Pett, recoiling from the prospect.
"Well, this fresh-air stuff is overrated anyway. Where's the sense of having a home if you don't stop in it?"
"When I was your age, I would have been out on a morning like this—er—bowling my hoop."
"And look at you now!"
"What do you mean?"
"Martyr to lumbago."