"
"I ought to have said, _hoping_ to see you."
"Oh. May I ask why?"
Mr. Osborn laughed contentedly. "Since I saw you at our service, you
know. Please come into my room."
It was not an attractive or nicely furnished room. All one side of it
was occupied by the lathe, bench, and tools; and on this side the
boards of the floor, with a carpet rolled back, were covered with
wood shavings.
"There, take off your wraps and be seated, Mr. Dale. I'll sort my
rubbish. Stuffy night, isn't it?"
Dale noticed that there was no bookcase, and he could not detect more
than six books anywhere lying about. Perhaps there were some in the
chiffonier. He would have expected to find quite a little library at a
house tenanted by this sort of man.
"What do you think of that?" And Mr. Osborn handed him the small round
box which he had been turning. "I amuse myself so. It's my hobby."
"You don't feel the want to read of an evening?"
"No, I'm not a book-worm. But one has to do something; so I took up
this. If folk chaff me"--and Mr. Osborn smiled and nodded his
head--"well, I tell them that infinitely better people than I have
done carpentering in their time. Of course they don't always follow
the allusion.
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