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Tarkington, Booth, 1869-1946

"The Turmoil, a novel"

Sheridan, blinking over
a yawn. "You better let it go till to-morrow and get to bed now--
'less you'll tell me?"
"Suppose something happened to Roscoe," he said. "THEN what'd I
have to look forward to? THEN what could I depend on to hold things
together? A lummix! A lummix that hasn't learned how to push a strip
o' zinc along a groove!"
"Roscoe?" she yawned. "You needn't worry about Roscoe, papa. He's
the strongest child we had. I never did know anybody keep better
health than he does. I don't believe he's even had a cold in five
years. You better go up to bed, papa."
"Suppose something DID happen to him, though. You don't know what it
means, keepin' property together these days--just keepin' it ALIVE,
let alone makin' it grow the way I do. I've seen too many estates
hacked away in chunks, big and little. I tell you when a man dies the
wolves come out o' the woods, pack after pack, to see what they can
tear off for themselves; and if that dead man's chuldern ain't on the
job, night and day, everything he built'll get carried off. Carried
off? I've seen a big fortune behave like an ash-barrel in a cyclone--
there wasn't even a dust-heap left to tell where it stood! I've seen
it, time and again.


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