[The Turmoil by Booth Tarkington]@TWC D-Link book
The Turmoil

CHAPTER VIII
2/22

"Pretty young, isn't it ?" he said.

"There must have been something about your looks that got the prize, Edith; I can't believe the poem did it." She glanced hurriedly over her shoulder and spoke sharply, but in a low voice: "I don't think it's very nice of you to bring it up at all, Bibbs.

I'd like a chance to forget the whole silly business.

I didn't want them to frame it, and I wish to goodness papa'd quit talking about it; but here, that night, after the dinner, didn't he go and read it aloud to the whole crowd of 'em! And then they all wanted to know what other poems I'd written and why I didn't keep it up and write some more, and if I didn't, why didn't I, and why this and why that, till I thought I'd die of shame!" "You could tell 'em you had writer's cramp," Bibbs suggested.
"I couldn't tell 'em anything! I just choke with mortification every time anybody speaks of the thing." Bibbs looked grieved.

"The poem isn't THAT bad, Edith.


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