looks. You can't be too careful on a train. Card sharps and all that. You've noticed the signs.
If still far from comfortable, Ambrose was considerably less perturbed. Yes, he assented, I've noticed the signs. You can see for yourself, he went on, almost, he was aware, as if he were apologizing, that I would never make a card player.
Oh, I guess you could if you'd keep your mind on it. It's all a question of keeping your mind on your job. You're not a teacher, are you?
No, said Ambrose. He found it impossible, as well as undesirable, to be more explicit.
Not a preacher; I can see that. Lawyer, maybe?
No, Ambrose repeated in desperation, his eyes on the cards, futilely, of course, for soon Abel Morris was inquiring why he didn't play the red queen.
If I like a man's looks I'm interested in what he does, Abel Morris remarked.
What Ambrose really wanted to say was, So am I. The words that issued unbidden from his throat were. There's nothing very interesting in what I do.
Everything any one does is interesting, his persistent neighbour averred, provided it's done up to the hilt. It's just a matter of how you do it, not at all what you do.
I do the best I can, Ambrose muttered.
