Roger had never been much of a drinker.
Ever since his marriage, cigars had been his only vice.

But of late he had been having curious little sinking spells.

They worried him, and he told himself he could not afford to get either too tired or too faint.
Nevertheless, he reflected, it was setting a bad example for George.

But glancing into his study he saw that the lad was completely absorbed.

With knees drawn up, his long lank form all hunched and huddled on the lounge, hair rumpled, George was reading a book which had a cover of tough gray cloth.