the dishes and washed them at the sink. Lampert continued to pace up and down; he appeared to be continuing, silently, the same line of thought.
"That ain't all," he broke out. "What you going to be when you grow up?"
Peewee observed him silently; ideas upon this question had been fixed in him by his relationship to Jeffrey Markyn, Second, but the contrast between what he meant to be and what he was, prevented his confiding them.
"You don't understand," Lampert decided. "There's men that work for other men and get paid what they want to pay 'em and get fired when they want to fire 'em; and there's men that sit in offices and have big houses and servants; they work when they want to work. Which do you want to be?"
"Like that," said Peewee.
"What business?"
Peewee's reply was instantaneous. "Trucks!" Nothing had so impressed him with the importance of the family to which he was misallied as their ownership of trucks.
