Ukridge gave me no balm.
"Well, after all," he said, when I pointed out to him quietly but
plainly my opinion of his tactlessness, "what does it matter? There
are other people in the world besides the old buffer. And we haven't
time to waste making friends, as a matter of fact. The farm ought to
keep us busy. I've noticed, Garny, old boy, that you haven't seemed
such a whale for work lately as you might be. You must buckle to, old
horse. We are at a critical stage. On our work now depends the success
of the speculation. Look at those cocks. They're always fighting.
Fling a stone at them. What's the matter with you? Can't get the novel
off your chest, what? You take my tip, and give your mind a rest.
Nothing like manual labor for clearing the brain. All the doctors say
so. Those coops ought to be painted to-day or to-morrow. Mind you, I
think old Derrick would be all right if one persevered--"
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