He held her hand in his, cupped together like a pair of shells for the rest of the hour. He had been reading Belfort Bax, and declared himself a convert. She felt as if she had struck them unawares. Of all crafts,—and it was the only craft his poor father, who, to do him justice, was one of the best workmen that ever handled a saw or drove a nail, could never understand,—of all crafts, I say, to be an honest man is the master-craft. It was her distinctive test of an emotional state, its interference with a kindly normal digestion. With his tongue lolling and his flea-bitten stump wagging apologetically, he glanced from face to face to see if there was any forgiveness visible. She has not been accused of any crime. His friendship seemed a thing worth having. " "A white wall is a fool's paper, Jack,—remember that," rejoined Wood.
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