You should be the poet." "I'm very fond of reading," said Dickson modestly.
A slow smile crumpled Mr.Heritage's face.

"There's a fire in the smoking-room," he observed as he rose.

"We'd better bag the armchairs before these fishing louts take them." Dickson followed obediently.
This was the kind of chance acquaintance for whom he had hoped, and he was prepared to make the most of him.
The fire burned bright in the little dusky smoking-room, lighted by one oil-lamp.

Mr.Heritage flung himself into a chair, stretched his long legs, and lit a pipe.
"You like reading ?" he asked.

"What sort?
Any use for poetry ?" "Plenty," said Dickson.