Jimmy--reelers,
every one of them!--if you'll only start now and do nothing else for the
next thirty or forty years. You can be a poor boy who became infamous
just as easy as pie! Simply forget the world's so full of a number of
things, and grab all you can of just one. But I could hug you for
wanting to be a man, not an adding-machine! For caring to know why
Socrates was richer than Morgan, and why Saint Francis and Sainte-Beuve,
each in his own way, have helped more to make life worth living than all
the Rothschilds of Europe! Oh, I know it's a paradox for me to preach
this, when here am I trying to collect a few small clay marbles--putting
every ounce of concentration in me on money making, on material success!
Not getting far with it, either--so far.

"But what I'm doing, Jimmy, is just what you've set out to do--I'm
trying not to be lopsided. You've met life as it is, already; I never
have. And I'd so love to moon along pleasantly on Ambo's inherited
money--read books and write verses and look at flowers and cats and
stars and trees and children and cows and chickens and funny dogs and
donkeys and funnier women and men! I'd so like not to adjust myself to
an industrial civilization; not to worry over that sort of thing at all;
above everything, not to earn my daily bread. I could cry about having
to make up my mind on such bristly beasts as economic or social
problems!

"The class struggle bores me to tears--yet here it is, we're up against
it; and I _won't_ be lopsided! What I want is pure thick cream, daintily
fed to me, too, from a hand-beaten spoon. So I mustn't have it unless I
can get it. And I don't know that I can--you see, it isn't all
conscience that's driving me; curiosity's at work as well! But it's
scrumptious to know we're both studying the same thing in a different
way--the one great subject, after all: How not to be lopsided! How to be
perfectly spherical, like the old man in the nonsense rhyme. Not wobbly
on one's axis--not even slightly flattened at the poles!"

"_Hurrah for us! Trumpets!_

"But I'm gladdest of all that you and Ambo are beginning at last to be
friends. You don't either of you say so--it drifts through; and I could
sing about it--if I could sing. There isn't anybody in the world like
Ambo.

"As for Sister and me, we're getting on, and we're not. Sister thinks
I've done marvels; I know she has. Marvels of economy and taste in
cozying up our room, marvels of sympathy and canny