"That trench scene they built for that show is as fine a contrivance as I've ever seen of the kind. What did they do? Set it to a lot of music without a hum or a ankle in it. A few classy nurses like the Mercy Militia Sextet, some live, grand-old-flag tunes by Harry Mordelle, and there's a half a million dollars in that show. Unger thinks I'm crazy when I try to get him interested, but I--"
"I got ninety in manual training to-day, pop."
"That's good, son. Little more of that stew, mother?"
"Unger isn't so smart, honey, he can't afford to take a tip off you once in a while: you've proved that to him."
"He'll live to see the day he's got to give you credit for being the first to see money in 'Pan-America.'"
"Credit? Huh! to hear him tell it, he was born with that idea in his bullet head."
"I'd like to hear him say it to me, if ever I lay eyes on him, that it wasn't you who begged him to get into it."
"I'll show 'em some day in that office that I can pick the winners for myself, as well as for the other fellow. Believe me, Unger hasn't raised me to fifty a week for my fancy bookkeeping, and he knows it, and, what's more, he knows I know he knows it."
"The fellers that are goin' to college next term have to register for the High School College Society, pop--dollar dues."
"Well, you aren't going to college, and that's where you and I save a hundred cents on the dollar. Little more gravy, mother."
The muscles of Edwin's face relaxed, his mouth dropping to a pout, the crude features quivering.
"Aw, pop, a feller nowadays without a college education don't stand a show."
"He don't, don't he? I know one who will."
Edwin threw a quivering glance to his mother and gulped through a constricted throat.
"Your mother'd say you could have the moon, too, if she had to climb a greased pole to get it. She'd start weaving door-mats for the Cingalese Hottentots if she thought they needed 'em."
"Your mother 'ain't got the bills of this shebang to worry about, and your mother don't mind having a college sissy a-laying around the house to support five years longer. I do."
"You got a better education now than nine boys out of ten. If you ain't man enough to want to get out after four years of high school and hustle for a living, you got to be shown the way out. I started when I was in short pants, and you're no better than your father. Your mother sold notions and axle-grease in an up-State general store up to the day she married. Now cut out the college talk you been springing on me lately. I won't have it--you hear? You're a poor man's son, and the sooner you make up your mind to it the better. Pass the chow-chow, mother."