to be _most_ undesirable; but Mr. Bangs is older and
ought to know better. Besides, he has a wife." Had she known of Tony's
matrimonial vicissitudes she would have fainted.

The odd-job man had just finished his digging, and Tony strolled over to
exchange a word: he never despaired of finding interest in the most
unpromising material. Chats with para-orators, enthusiastic
Salvationists, members of the Junior Turf Club, constellations of the
stage, even housemaids taking in the milk,--all might be, and often
were, instruments in the warfare against boredom. All were fish for his
net. But it must be confessed that his catch had hitherto been of little
value. He had bought a few centimes' worth, paying for it with numerous
rouleaus, and he was beginning dimly to wonder if it was not rather an
extravagant method of exchange.

"Done?" he asked laconically, and Henry Brown smiled with content.

"That's a good job jobbed," he replied. "Shifting earth is healthy, sir,
but it takes doing."

"D'you like it?" said Tony; "I mean, d'you find it interesting and all
that, or do you pant after the higher life? More wages and less work,
and so forth, I mean?"

The odd-job man shrugged his shoulders.

"It's my job, sir," he said philosophically. "I can't say it's amazing
interesting, but it's my job, and it's got to be done."

"Got to be done," repeated Tony, musing. "I suppose it has ... by some
one. Thank goodness it's not to be done by me. Tell me, Brown, what do
you really think of work? Does it bore you or what? Do you think it's a
good thing, so to speak? You needn't mind speaking out--the vicar can't
hear, and I'm a man of the world and all that. Tell me, does work bore
you to tears?"

The other smiled.

"Work's kept many a man straight, sir," he said. "I should be sorry to
be without."

"You really _mean_ that?" asked Tony in surprise.

"I do, sir. Don't you think the same?"

Tony did not answer, but reflected for at least a minute. Then he took
off his coat and turned up his shirt-sleeves with a whimsical smile. "I
haven't worked for years," he said: "kept myself fit with developers and
other horrors. Lend me your spade, will you? I want a new thrill."

Brown laughed, but obeyed. Tony began to dig, steadily and resolutely,
at a spot where another post was to be planted. He did not attack the
task too vehemently, as many an amateur would have done, for he had
brains. But he dug faithfully, and at the end of ten mi