Emerson ever knew in his whole life!"

"You--you may be--" Bibbs said, indistinctly, the last word smothered
in a cough.

"Of COURSE I'm right! And if it ain't just like you to want to take
up with the most out-o'-date kind o' writin' there is! 'Poems and
essays'! My Lord, Bibbs, that's WOMEN'S work! You can't pick up a
newspaper without havin' to see where Mrs. Rumskididle read a paper
on 'Jane Eyre,' or 'East Lynne,' at the God-Knows-What Club. And
'poetry'! Why, look at Edith! I expect that poem o' hers would set
a pretty high-water mark for you, young man, and it's the only one
she's ever managed to write in her whole LIFE! When I wanted her to
go on and write some more she said it took too much time. Said it
took months and months. And Edith's a smart girl; she's got more
energy in her little finger than you ever give me a chance to see in
your whole body, Bibbs. Now look at the facts: say she could turn
out four or five poems a year and you could turn out maybe two. That
medal she got was worth about fifteen dollars, so there's your income
--thirty dollars a year! That's a fine success to make of your life!
I'm not sayin' a word against poetry. I wouldn't take ten thousand
dollars right now for that poem of Edith's; and poetry's all right
enough in its place--but you leave it to the girls. A man's got to
do a man's work in this world!"

He seated himself in a chair at his son's side and, leaning over,
tapped Bibbs confidentially on the knee. "This city's got the
greatest future in America, and if my sons behave right by me and by
themselves they're goin' to have a mighty fair share of it--a mighty
fair share. I love this town. It's God's own footstool, and it's