“Oh yes, of course I don’t really exactly mean that-- I s’pose. Course--competition--brings out the best--survival of the fittest--but-- But I mean: Take all these fellows we know, the kind right here in the club now, that seem to be perfectly content with their home-life and their businesses, and that boost Zenith and the Chamber of Commerce and holler for a million population. I bet if you could cut into their heads you’d find that one-third of ’em are sure-enough satisfied with their wives and kids and friends and their offices; and one-third feel kind of restless but won’t admit it; and one-third are miserable and know it. They hate the whole peppy, boosting, go-ahead game, and they’re bored by their wives and think their families are fools--at least when they come to forty or forty-five they’re bored--and they hate business, and they’d go-- Why do you suppose there’s so many ‘mysterious’ suicides? Why do you suppose so many Substantial Citizens jumped right into the war? Think it was all patriotism?” Babbitt snorted, “What do you expect? Think we were sent into the world to have a soft time and--what is it?--‘float on flowery beds of ease’? Think Man was just made to be happy?” “Why not? Though I’ve never discovered anybody that knew what the deuce Man really was made for!” “Well we know--not just in the Bible alone, but it stands to reason--a man who doesn’t buckle down and do his duty, even if it does bore him sometimes, is nothing but a--well, he’s simply a weakling. Mollycoddle, in fact! And what do you advocate? Come down to cases! If a man is bored by his wife, do you seriously mean he has a right to chuck her and take a sneak, or even kill himself?” “Good Lord, I don’t know what ‘rights’ a man has! And I don’t know the solution of boredom. If I did, I’d be the one philosopher that had the cure for living. But I do know that about ten times as many people find their lives dull, and unnecessarily dull, as ever admit it; and I do believe that if we busted out and admitted it sometimes, instead of being nice and patient and loyal for sixty years, and then nice and patient and dead for the rest of eternity, why, maybe, possibly, we might make life more fun.” They drifted into a maze of speculation. Babbitt was elephantishly uneasy. Paul was bold, but not quite sure about what he was being bold. Now and then Babbitt suddenly agreed with Paul in an admission which contradicted all his defense of duty and Christian patience, and at each admission he had a curious reckless joy. He said at last: “Look here, old Paul, you do a lot of talking about kicking things in the face, but you never kick. Why don’t you?”