"You've been here since the hills were hollows. You've made your pile. What's the idea of keepin' on?"
"Why—why, a man must keep busy."
Pelly negotiated the cuspidor safely.
"Busy, hell! You've been busy enough to last three or four lifetimes. The trouble with Lily is she ain't been busy enough. If—if there'd been more children there wouldn't 've been this trouble; if you'd call it a job and pulled out half a dozen years ago you wouldn't 've been in this stew."
He took off his derby and mussed his thin hair.
"You know, Ezam," crossing his knees, "Lily wasn't cut out for Pancake. It was all right for a while, but now it's used up her interest and 's after her nerve. Shucks! You're going to dry up and blow away in some hot wind yourself if you don't play a little! Sell your toy bank or give it away or somethin'! You've made your pile; you can play the rest of your life and never think twice about a new pair of shoes if prices never go down! Put Lily in your car, set fire to the house, light out for Maine for the summer, do New York in the fall and see the boy, drop over to California for the winter and maybe give Honolulu the once-over in the spring. Come back and look in on us in the summer for a few weeks; on your way again!"
He waved his hand elaborately. "Simple as skinnin' a cat!"
"You don't understand, doctor. It's—"
"Course I understand! You're in a rut and think th' world depends on your runnin' the bank of Pancake. Lily's in a rut, too, and Pancake's holdin' her in it. Don't try to tell me there's anything to hold you here but a habit. You know, Ezam, if I was fixed like you are,
