The Hobbyous Corpus Act.

A hobby is something upon which he can get a grip when his feet slither on the greasy-pole of existence. He clings to his hobby with the tenacity of a fly to a ceiling. Derision only makes it dearer. Opposition fans the flame of fervour. Whether his particular mild mania be collecting Victorian whiskers or woofit's eggs, whether his interest is concentrated on flinging a large wooden ball at other large wooden balls, or whether he prefers to do things with his feet that motor cars can do far better, the hostile hoot and the snooky sniff only add to his addled ardour.

Should he be a collector of tin tacks the scornful scowl will drive him on to lead-headed nails and then to six-inch bolts. If pushed to the wall he might get down on second-hand sections of railway line or even shop-soiled girders.

He may be a collector of matchbox lids. One wifely sniff of derisatory doubt will be sufficient to set him off on dust-bin lids. The sterner the opposition the bigger he goes; and he'd never regret it. He'd find adventure and interest enow in creating the only collection of dust-bin lids extant. For people harbour a strange aversion from having the lids of their bins pilfered. He might covet his neighbour's socks or his axe or anything that is his, and get away with it as a spot of playful larceny; but let him rattle a dust-bin lid and the neighbour opens the window and flings a boot last at him.