that I could produce from an acre of ground in a year would amount to very little, therefore my industry was folly. There was not even left to me the joy of slumber, for although I am considered something of an athlete, practical horticulture made my bones ache so much that I could not sleep at night. What's that poem about sheep and the rich man, and sleep and the poor man?"
"I'm sure I don't know," replied Blake.
"Why don't you know? You're my private secretary, and it's the business of a private secretary to know ever so much more than his employer. A private secretary should let his gifts so shine before men through his chief, that the public overestimate the qualities of that chief. I know at least a score of incompetents, especially in Parliament, ignorant asses, who are winning the plaudits of the populace, simply because each has a brilliant private secretary, yet here I want an insignificant little untruthful verse, and you can't give it to me."
"How does it go? I'll look it up in the book of quotations."
"Oh, blow your book of quotations! If I remembered how it went, I shouldn't need any assistance. It's something like this:—
