human
What's the matter with you, Jerry? I thought matrimony had tamed you!
gpt
On the contrary.
human
Come on up to date, Jerry. It's lonesome back there where you are.
gpt
He isn't back there at all, Bobs; he walks right along abreast of his times, in actuality, but he insists that he is still in the past,
human
Jane knows all about me,
gpt
She ought to--she has to live with you.
human
Have you heard our latest news?
gpt
New genius in the family.
human
You mean Baby?
gpt
Oh, Jerry, please,
human
No; Jane.
gpt
I've always known Jane was a genius,
human
Has she put something over on you, Jerry?
gpt
Yes, she's written a book.
human
Written a book?
gpt
I intended not to tell any one until it was published, but since Jerry has seen fit to tell....
human
Jane! how wonderful! What is it about?
gpt
Jerry, what's it about?
human
I don't know--I haven't read it.
gpt
Haven't read it? Why not?
human
She hasn't asked me to.
gpt
Why, Jerry! I thought you didn't want me to,
human
Let me tell you one thing, Jane Judd, I'll not leave this house until I have a copy in my hands. I'd rather read a book by you! Why, Jane, you old sphinx, how could you do it? Tell me the whole thing.
gpt
She won't tell you a word. I had to drag it out of her,
human
Very well, you tell me,
gpt
It's quite a drama. The first act set is little town. Heroine in pigtails, yearning with ambition to be George Sand or George Eliot or some of the great female scribblers. Encouraged by doting mother, she writes essays on Spring. Act two, plays in the great, cruel city. Heroine, orphaned and penniless, comes to fight for fame. Like the poor match-girl, she knows hunger and cold, while she peddles her works--in vain. Am I accurate, Jane?
human
Quite,
gpt
She is forced to take a mere job to buy food. Enter a brilliant but impoverished artist, with the job in his right hand. Heroine toils by day that she may create by night. Midnight oil, cold tenement room, you know. Abraham Lincoln stuff.
human
Jane, while you were working for all of us, did you write, too?
gpt
Don't interrupt, Bobs. Enter hero--a great critic--a literary light. Reads heroine's work--hails her genius of the age--rushes her to publishers, who press gold upon her and accept her immortal opus!
human
Go on with act three. That's only two acts,
gpt
Act three isn't written yet. It develops story of insignificant husband, formerly brilliant but impoverished artist, and the chie-ild.
human
Well, well, well! said Bobs.
gpt
I never was so excited. I always knew you'd create something, Jane, and now....
human
May I call attention to her other creation--Mr. Jerry Paxton Jr.?
gpt
He's important, but anybody can have a baby and so few people can write books!
human
You women! I reverse it! Anybody can write a book, but so few women can have a son like Jerry. That's the set of volumes I wish her to complete.
gpt
No, no more human volumes, Jerry, until we have ample means. Printing and binding and bookshelves are so costly for human volumes. Besides, one must be so careful what one writes in them.
human
I suppose I have something to say about that,
gpt
Certainly. I supposed I was expressing your conviction, too, Jerry, that only the best that love can give, only the largest opportunity, could excuse bringing children into the world.
human
Jane's right. Most parents would have a hard time defending themselves, if their children came to them with the question, 'Why did you do this to me?'
gpt
You talk an awful lot of nonsense, you two,
human
What's the matter with him?
gpt
He's bitterly opposed to my writing.
human
He's jealous; I know him.
gpt
He doesn't think it's that. I only just realized to-night that he was hurt because I hadn't offered him the book. I was hurt because he didn't ask for it,
human
Men are a trial!