Manchurian Books

You've got--it's a sort of dismal grit.
Bark your shins, rouse you, and you'll go! You'd rush any position you
had a mind to rush. I know a bit about character, George--trust me.
You've got--" He clenched his hands and thrust them out suddenly, and at
the same time said, with explosive violence, "Wooosh! Yes. You have! The
way you put away that Latin at Wimblehurst; I've never forgotten it.
"Wo-oo-oo-osh! Your science and all that! Wo-oo-oo-osh! I know my
limitations. There's things I can do, and" (he spoke in a whisper, as
though this was the first hint of his life's secret) "there's things I
can't. Well, I can create this business, but I can't make it go. I'm too
voluminous--I'm a boiler-over, not a simmering stick-at-it. You keep on
HOTTING UP AND HOTTING UP. Papin's digester. That's you, steady and
long and piling up,--then, wo-oo-oo-oo-osh. Come in and stiffen these
niggers. Teach them that wo-oo-oo-oo-osh. There you are! That's what I'm
after. You! Nobody else believes you're more than a boy. Come right in
with me and be a man.


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