"Ferdie," said Francis Charles, "you are right. I am."

"Too lazy to defend yourself against the charge of being lazy?"

"Not at all. The calm repose; that sort of thing--what?"

Mr. Boland's face assumed the patient expression of one misjudged.

"Laziness!" repeated Ferdie sternly. "'Tis a vice that I abhor. Slip me a
smoke."

Francis Charles fumbled in the cypress humidor at Ferdie's elbow; he
leaned over the table and gently closed Ferdie's finger and thumb upon
a cigarette.

"Match," sighed Ferdie.

Boland struck a match; he held the flame to the cigarette's end. Ferdie
puffed. Then he eyed his friend with judicial severity.

"Abominably lazy! Every opportunity--family, education--brains, perhaps.
Why don't you go to work?"

"My few and simple wants--" Boland waved his hand airily. "Besides,
who am I that I should crowd to the wall some worthy and industrious
person?--practically taking the bread from the chappie's mouth, you
might say. No, no!" said Mr. Boland with emotion; "I may have my faults,
but--"