"Well, I'm his brother," Jim said, deprecatingly, "but I don't know
what he's like, and, to tell the truth, I've never felt exactly like
I WAS his brother, the way I do Roscoe. Bibbs never did seem more
than half alive to me. Of course Roscoe and I are older, and when
we were boys we were too big to play with him, but he never played
anyway, with boys his own age. He'd rather just sit in the house and
mope around by himself. Nobody could ever get him to DO anything;
you can't get him to do anything now. He never had any LIFE in him;
and honestly, if he is my brother, I must say I believe Bibbs Sheridan
is the laziest man God ever made! Father put him in the machine-shop
over at the Pump Works--best thing in the world for him--and he was
just plain no account. It made him sick! If he'd had the right kind
of energy--the kind father's got, for instance, or Roscoe, either--
why, it wouldn't have made him sick. And suppose it was either of
them--yes, or me, either--do you think any of us would have stopped
if we WERE sick? Not much! I hate to say it, but Bibbs Sheridan'll
never amount to anything as long as he lives."

Mary looked thoughtful. "Is there any particular reason why he
should?" she asked.

"Good gracious!" he exclaimed. "You don't mean that, do you? Don't
you believe in a man's knowing how to earn his salt, no matter how
much money his father's got? Hasn't the business of this world got
to be carried on by everybody in it? Are we going to lay back on
what we've got and see other fellows get ahead of us? If we've got
big things already, isn't it every man's business to go ahead and
make 'em bigger? Isn't it his duty? Don't we always want to get
bigger and bigger?"