“But think of the books he is giving to the world! He told Daddy he was on his thirteenth volume!”
“Yes, he swims around most of the time in a sea of declensions, conjugations, and syntaxes, in Greek, Latin and English.”
“I think he's magnificent!” cried Miss Lady, trying to hold Prince down to a walk. “I adore people who do great things and amount to something.”
“All of which I suppose is meant to reflect on a poor devil who doesn't do things and doesn't amount to anything?”
“I never said so.”
“See here,” said Donald whimsically, “for two weeks you have been getting me not to do things. When I think of all the things I have promised you, I can feel my hair turning white. Having polished me off on the don'ts, you aren't going to begin on the do's, are you?”
“Indeed I am. Does Doctor Queerington really think you could be a writer?”
“He has been after me about it ever since I was a youngster. I'm always scribbling at something, but there is nothing in it. Besides,” he added with a smile, “I'm going to be a farmer.”
Miss Lady threw back her head and laughed:
“He wants to be a farmer
And with the farmers stand
The hay seed on his forehead
And a rake within his hand.”