Our Mr. Wrenn, the Romantic Adventures of a Gentle Man by Sinclair Lewis
page 61 of 346 (17%)
page 61 of 346 (17%)
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"Great stuff. Not working for some lazy cuss that's inherited the right to boss you. And _international_ brotherhood, not just neighborhoods. New thing." "Gee! I surely would like that, awfully," sighed Mr. Wrenn. He saw the processional of world brotherhood tramp steadily through the paling sunset; saffron-vestured Mandarin marching by flax-faced Norseman and languid South Sea Islander--the diverse peoples toward whom he had always yearned. "But I don't care so much for some of these ranting street-corner socialists, though," mused Morton. "The kind that holler `Come get saved _our_ way or go to hell! Keep off scab guides to prosperity.'" "Yuh, sure. Ha! ha! ha!" "Huh! huh!" Morton soon had another thought. "Still, same time, us guys that do the work have got to work out something for ourselves. We can't bank on the rah-rah boys that wear eye-glasses and condescend to like us, cause they think we ain't entirely too dirty for 'em to associate with, and all these writer guys and so on. That's where you got to hand it to the street-corner shouters." "Yes, that's _so_. Y' right there, I guess, all right." |
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