to
be seen and not heard." But Little Jim always listened eagerly.

Endicott looked excited tonight. But he had no news about the tariff.

"There's a boy at my house!" he exclaimed. "He just came. Nine pounds!
Annie is doing fine."

"Oh!" cried Mrs. Manning, while Big Jim shook Will's hand solemnly. "Oh,
goodness! I didn't know--Why I thought tomorrow--Well, I guess I'll go
right over now. Goodness----" and still exclaiming, she hurried out into
the summer dusk.

"That's great, Will!" said Big Jim. "I wish I could afford to have a
dozen. But they cost money, these kids. I suppose you'll be like me,
never be able to afford but the one."

"He's awful strong," said Will, abstractedly. "To hear him yell, you'd
think he was twins. Looks like me, too. Red as a beet and fat."

"Must be a beauty," said Big Jim. "That Wop that works with me has seven
children about a year apart. Doesn't worry him at all. He just moves
into a cheaper place, cuts down on food and clothes and takes another
one out of school and sets him to work. They're growing up like Indians,
lawless little devils. A fine addition to the country! I was reading the
other day that by the law of averages a man has got to have four
children to be pretty sure of his line surviving. And it said that we
New Englanders have the smallest birth rate in the civilized world
except France, which is the same as ours. And we've got the biggest
proportion of foreigners of any part of America now, up here."

Will came out of the clouds for a moment. "I've been telling you that
for years. What's the matter with us, anyhow?"

Big Jim shrugged his shoulders. "All like you and me, I suppose. If we
can't give a child a decent chance, we won't have 'em. And these
foreigners have cut down wages so's we can hardly support one, let alone
two."

Endicott rose. "I just happened to think. I'm going to borrow Chadwick's
scales and weigh him again. They're better than mine."

Big Jim chuckled and filled his pipe. Then he sighed. "We've got to go,
Jimmy. The old New Englander is as dead as the Indian. We are
has-beens."

"But why?" urged Little Jim. "I don't feel like a has-been. What's made
us this way? Why don't you and the rest do something?"

"You'd have to change our skins," replied his father, "to make us fight
these foreigners on their own level. I'm going to bed. No use waiting
for Mama. There's a hard day ahead in the quarry tomorrow. That break
set us back on a rush or