It's everywhere just
like it was at school. They kept us so hard at it, studying Greek
roots, we hadn't time to learn English grammar. Look at young Dennis
Yewbury. He's got two thousand acres up in Scotland. He could lead
a jolly life turning the place into some real use. Instead of which
he lets it all run to waste for nothing but to breed a few hundred
birds that wouldn't keep a single family alive; while he works from
morning till night at humbugging people in a beastly hole in the
City, just to fill his house with a host of silly gim-cracks and
dress up himself and his women-folk like peacocks. Of course we
would always want clever chaps like you to tell us stories; and
doctors we couldn't do without, though I guess if we were leading
sensible lives we'd be able to get along with about half of them. It
seems to me that what we want is a comfortable home, enough to eat
and drink, and a few fal-lal sort of things to make the girls look
pretty; and that all the rest is rot. We would all of us have time
then to think and play a bit, and if we were all working fairly at
something really useful and were contented with our own share,
there'd be enough for everybody.
"I suppose this is all nonsense, but I wish it wasn't. Anyway, it's
what I mean to do myself; and I'm awfully much obliged to you, Dad,
for giving me this chance. You've hit the right nail on the head
this time. Farming was what I was meant for; I feel it.
Pages:
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182