The Turmoil by Booth Tarkington

that builds the bridges, Bibbs; it’s the kind that borrows fifteen cents from his wife’s uncle’s brother-in-law to get ten cent’s worth o’ plug tobacco and a nickel’s worth o’ quinine!”
    He put the finishing touch on this etching with a snort, and turned again to the window.
    “Look out there!” he bade his son. “Look out o’ that window! Look at the life and evergy down there! I should think ANY young man’s blood would tingle to get into it and be part of it. Look at the big things young men are doin’ in this town!” He swung about, coming to the mahogany desk in the middle of the room. “Look at what I was doin’ at your age! Look at what your own brothers are doin’! Look at Roscoe! Yes, and look at Jim! I made Jim president o’ the Sheridan Realty Company last New-Year’s, with charge of every inch o’ ground and every brick and every shingle and stick o’ wood we own; and it’s an example to any young man—or ole man, either—the way he took ahold of it. Last July we found out we wanted two more big warehouses at the Pump Works—wanted ‘em quick. Contractors said it couldn’t be done; said nine or ten months at the soonest; couldn’t see it any other way. What’d Jim do? Took the contract himself; found a fellow with a new cement and concrete process; kept men on the job night and day, and stayed on it night and day himself—and, by George! we begin to USE them warehouses next week! Four months and a half, and every inch fireproof! I tell you Jim’s one o’ these fellers that make miracles happen! Now, I don’t say every young man can be like Jim, because there’s mighty few got his ability, but every young man can go in and do his share. This town is God’s own country, and there’s opportunity for anybody with a pound of energy and an ounce o’ gumption. I tell you these young business men I watch just do my heart good! THEY don’t set around on the back fence—no, sir! They take enough exercise to keep their health; and they go to a baseball game once or twice a week in summer, maybe, and they’re raisin’ nice families, with sons to take their places sometime and carry on the work—because the work’s got to go ON! They’re puttin’ their life-blood into it, I tell you, and that’s why we’re gettin’ bigger every minute, and why THEY’RE gettin’ bigger, and why it’s all goin’ to keep ON gettin’ bigger!”
    He slapped the desk resoundingly with his open palm, and then, observing that Bibbs remained in the same impassive attitude, with his eyes still fixed upon the ceiling in a contemplation somewhat plaintive, Sheridan was impelled to groan. “Oh, Lord!” he said. “This is the way you always were. I don’t believe you understood a darn word I been sayin’! You don’t LOOK as if you did. By George! it’s discouraging!”
    “I don’t understand about getting—about getting bigger,” said Bibbs, bringing his gaze down to look at his father placatively. “I don’t see just why—”
    “WHAT?” Sheridan leaned forward, resting his hands upon the desk and staring across it incredulously at his son.
    “I don’t understand—exactly—what you want it all bigger for?”
    “Great God!” shouted Sheridan, and struck the desk a blow with his clenched fist. “A son of mine asks me that! You go out and ask the poorest day-laborer you can find! Ask him that question—”
    “I did once,” Bibbs interrupted; “when I was in the machine-shop. I—”
    “Wha’d he say?”
    “He said, ‘Oh, hell!’” answered Bibbs, mildly.
    “Yes, I reckon he would!” Sheridan swung away from the desk. “I reckon he certainly would! And I got plenty sympathy with him right now, myself!”
    “It’s the same answer, then?” Bibbs’s voice was serious, almost tremulous.
    “Damnation!” Sheridan roared. “Did you ever hear the word Prosperity, you ninny? Did you ever hear the word Ambition? Did you ever hear the word PROGRESS?”
    He flung himself