Dog Pincher (to possible purchaser). "I wouldn't sell 'im for fifty quid, only they don't allow no dawgs in our flats at Mallaby Mansions."
FARES.
"Is that you, Herbert?" I said in surprise.
It was.
Strange how machinery can influence a man. The last time I had seen Herbert he was a rubicund cheerful gardener. He was now a London taxi-driver, with all the signs of that mystery on him: the shabbiness, the weariness, the disdain.
"Are you glad you gave up gardening?" I asked him.
"Can't say I am now," he replied. "There's more money in this, but the work's too hard. I miss my sleep, too."
"You can always go back," I said.