III

"Gosh all fishhooks!" Ted wailed to Eunice, as they wolfed hot chocolate, lumps of nougat, and an assortment of glace nuts, in the mosaic splendor of the Royal Drug Store, "it gets me why Dad doesn’t just pass out from being so poky. Every evening he sits there, about half-asleep, and if Rone or I say, ’Oh, come on, let’s do something,’ he doesn’t even take the trouble to think about it. He just yawns and says, ’Naw, this suits me right here.’ He doesn’t know there’s any fun going on anywhere. I suppose he must do some thinking, same as you and I do, but gosh, there’s no way of telling it. I don’t believe that outside of the office and playing a little bum golf on Saturday he knows there’s anything in the world to do except just keep sitting there-sitting there every night—not wanting to go anywhere—not wanting to do anything—thinking us kids are crazy—sitting there—Lord!"