Well, there was the simple, obvious possibility, the natural, right human thing to do ... he could continue to stay at home and make the home, since a home-maker was needed. He knew this was impossible. The instant he tried to consider it, he knew it was as impossible as to roll away a mountain from his path with his bare hands. He knew that from the beginning of time everything had been arranged to make that impossible. Every unit in the whole of society would join in making it impossible, from the Ladies’ Guild to the children in the public schools. It would be easier for him to commit murder or rob a bank than to give his intelligence where it was most needed, in his own home with his children. “What is your husband’s business, Mrs. Knapp?” “He hasn’t any. He stays at home and keeps house.” “Oh....” He heard that “Oh!” reverberating infernally down every road he tried. “My Papa is an insurance agent. What does your Papa do for a living, Helen?” “He doesn’t do anything. Mother makes the living. Father stays home with us children.” “Oh, is he sick?” “No, he’s not sick.” “Oh....” He saw Helen, sensitive, defenseless Helen cringing before that gigantic “oh.” He knew that soon Henry with his normal reactions would learn to see that “oh” coming, to hide from it, to avoid his playmates because of it. There was no sense to that “oh”; there had been no sense for generations and generations. It was an exclamation that dated from the cave-age, but it still had power to warp the children’s lives as much as--yes, almost as much as leaving them to a Mrs. Anderson. They would be ashamed of him. He would lose his influence over them. He would be of no use to them. Over his head Tradition swung a bludgeon he knew he could not parry. He had always guessed at the presence of that Tradition ruling the world, guessed that it hated him, guessed at its real name. He saw it plain now, grinning sardonically high above all the little chattering pretenses of idealism. He knew now what it decreed: that men are in the world to get possessions, to create material things, to sell them, to buy them, to transport them, above all to stimulate to fever-heat the desire for them in all human beings. It decreed that men are of worth in so far as they achieve that sort of material success, and worthless if they do not. That was the real meaning of the unctuous talk of “service” in the commercial text-books which Eva read so whole-heartedly. They were intended to fix the human attention altogether on the importance of material things; to make women feel that the difference between linen and cotton is of more importance to them than the fine, difficultly drawn, always-varying line between warm human love and lust; to make men feel that more possessions would enlarge their lives ... blasphemy! Blasphemy!