human
Grant, the father was getting down from his high stool to dump his type on the galley;
gpt
Grant, I had a tiff with Tom Van Dorn yesterday. Lord, Lord, cried the old man, as he bent over, straightening some type that his nervous hand had knocked down.
human
I wonder, Grant --the father rose and put his hand on his back, as he stood looking into his son's face--
gpt
I wonder if all that we feel, all that we believe, all that we strive and live for--is a dream? Are we chasing shadows? Isn't it wiser to conform, to think of ourselves first and others afterward--to go with the current of life and not against it? Of course, my guides--
human
Father, cried Grant,
gpt
I saw Tom Van Dorn yesterday, too, in his big new car--and I don't need your guides to tell me who is moving with the current and who is buffeting it. Oh, father, that hell-scorched face--don't talk to me about his faith and mine!