"Some flap-doodle old women are callin' us destroyers and devastators! What was timber for? They use it, don't they, while they yell about what we've done! They sob about th' next generation, but why th' hell should we care about what's comin'? Didn't Michigan Pine build th' corn belt? An' where'd this country be without its grain lands now? Didn't Michigan Pine build cities that make the country wealthy? Hump! What's th' next generation to me? Every generation has its work to do. Anyhow look at yourself! Bah! you want to commence to learn some business from th' top down. You want to put on th' cornice before you've got the foundation in, because you don't want th' rough work. You're the kind that these old women are worrying over. I tell you, boy, you an' your like don't deserve worry from anybody, even from an old woman in pants."
"That's unfair!" John half rose as he said it, and color rushed into his face.
"This has been corked up in me too long now!" His son settled back. "Unfair, am I? If you think that's unfair, wait till I get through! You come to me for what you call a start, an' what my daddy would call a finish. You, with your six feet, your hunderd-eighty pounds of youth, your strong back an' good eye, an' a better education than any of us ever had; you who're fitted for harder work than any of us, an' now you don't want to muss up your hands!"
"You don't consider one thing, sir," John cried. "You blame me for not doing the way your generation did, and you don't stop to think that this is no longer your generation."
"I don't, eh? I don't consider that? You don't con-
