"Not too large," said Mr. Moss cheerfully. "Only eleven. My mother had twenty-five, and I've a sister with eighteen. Our youngest--what a rogue he is, doctor--is eight months; our eldest, Michael, is seventeen next birthday. Schooldays over, he buckles to for work. We had a family council to decide what he should be. We discussed all the professions, and reduced them to two--doctor, stockbroker. Michael had a leaning to be a doctor, that's why we kept it in for discussion, and we succeeded in arguing him out of it. Your time's not your own, you see. Called up at all hours of the night and in all weathers; go to a dinner party, and dragged away before it's half over; obliged to leave the best behind you; can't enjoy a game of cards or billiards. You've got a little bet on, perhaps, or you're playing for points, and you're just winning when it's, 'Doctor, you must come at once; so and so's dying.' What's the consequence? You make a miscue, or you revoke, and you lose your money. If you're married you're worse off than if you're single; you haven't any comfort of your life. 'No, no, Michael,' says I, 'no doctoring. Stockbroking--that's what you'll go for.' And that's what he is going for. Most of our people, doctor, are lucky in their children; they don't forget to honor their father and their mother that their days may be long in the land, and so on. There's big fish on the Stock Exchange, and they're worth trying for. What's the use of sprats? It takes a hundred to fill a dish. Catch one salmon and your dish is filled. A grand fish, doctor, a grand fish! What to do with our sons? Why, put them where they can make money. _We_ know what we're about. There's no brain in the world to compare with ours, and that's no boast, let me tell you. Take your strikes now--a strike of bricklayers for a rise of twopence per day in their wages. How many of our race among the strikers? Not one. Did you ever see a Jewish bricklayer carrying a hod up a hundred-foot ladder, and risking his neck for bread, cheese, and beer? No, and you never will. We did our share of that kind of work in old Egypt; we made all the bricks we wanted to, and now we're taking a rest. A strike of bootmakers. How many of our race among the cobblers? One in a thousand, and he's an addlepate. We deal in boots--wholesale, but we don't make them ourselves. Not likely. We build houses--with _our_ money and _your_ bricks and mortar. When we're after birds we don't care for sparrows; we aim at eagles, and we bring them down, we bring them down." He beat his gloved hands together and chuckled. "What's your opinion, doctor?" "You are right, quite right," said Dr. Spenlove, upon whose ears his companion's words had fallen like the buzzing of insects. "Should say I was," said Mr. Moss, and would have continued had not Dr. Spenlove hurried forward out of hearing.