Mr.Lasher pulled furiously at his pipe and Mr.Pidgen stood up by the fire with his short fat legs spread wide and his mouth smiling, but his eyes vexed and rather indignant.
"My dear Pidgen," said Mr.Lasher, "you misunderstand me, you do indeed! It may be (I would be the first to admit that, like most men, I have my weakness) that I lay too much stress upon the healthy, physical, normal life, upon seeing things as they are and not as one would like to see them to be.

I don't believe that dreaming ever did any good to any man!" "It's only produced some of the finest literature the world has ever known," said Mr.Pidgen.
"Ah! Genius! If you or I were geniuses, Pidgen, that would be another affair.

But we're not; we're plain, common-place humdrum human beings with souls to be saved and work to do--work to do!" There was a little pause after that, and Hugh, looking at Mr.Pidgen, saw the hurt look in his eyes deepen.
"Come now, Lasher," he said at last.

"Let's be honest one with another; that's your line, and you say it ought to be mine.

Come now, as man to man, you think me a damnable failure now--beg pardon--complete failure--don't you?
Don't be afraid of hurting me.