“Good for you, Hugh,” Ross said quietly.
Hugh blushed with pleasure, but he was tak
back by Nutter’s vigorous rejoinder. “Bunk!”
exclaimed. “Hooey! The sun, moon, and stai
and all that stuff sounds pretty, but it is n’t lii
Life’s earning a living, and working like hell, ai
women, and pleasure. The ‘Rubaiyat’ ’s the on
poem—if you ’re going to quote poetry. That
the only poem I ever saw that had any sense to
“Come, Beloved, fill the Cup that clears To-day of past Regrets and future Fears. To-morrow? Why, To-morrow I may be Myself with Yesterday’s seven thousand Years.
You bet. You never can tell when you ’re goi to be bumped off, and so you might just as well ha a good time while you can. You damn well dor know what’s coming after you kick the bucket.”
“Good stuff, the ‘Rubaiyat,’ ” said Ferguson li ily. He was lying on his back staring at the ceilir “I bet I’ve read it a hundred times. When th turn down an empty glass for me, it’s going to empty. I don’t know what I ’m here for or whe I’m going or why. ‘Into this world and why njj knowing,’ and so on. My folks sent me to Sundr school and brought me up to be a good little be I believed just about everything they told me un I came to college. Now I know they told meal of damned lies. And I’ve talked with a lot of f
