The sentence ended in a tremulous laugh.
"No doubt he may have started out to be a gentleman—poor chap—and then got on the wrong track. Well, you did what was right. You know that."
"I hope so," was the dull answer.
"We'll not talk about it any more. Come, let's shift the subject to something else."
"To clocks?"
"Aren't you tired of clocks?"
"No. Are you?"
"I never get tired of them," smiled McPhearson. "If I did, it would be fatal. They are my daily bread."
"And mine, too, for that matter," rejoined Christopher.
"Perhaps," admitted the Scotchman. "Still you do not subsist wholly on clocks. Your bread is studded with pearls, emeralds, and rubies."