"If you want to do something for me, Gladys, there's a way."
He said this in reply to an aspiration of all three, in which the youngest sister had been spokesman.
Gladys's voice was eager and affectionate.
"What way, Bob? Tell us. We'll do anything."
Smoothing Pansy's back as she lay on his crossed knees, he considered how best to make it clear. Gladys sat close to him, as the one who most easily took him fraternally. Gussie, in whom he stirred an unusual self-consciousness, kept herself more aloof. Altogether in the shadow, Jennie was seemingly withdrawn, and yet more intensely aware of him than anyone.
"It's this way," he tried to explain: "Living is like climbing a mountainside. You drag yourself up to a ledge where you can stand and take breath, and feel that you've reached somewhere. Then, just as you think that you can camp there and be comfortable for the rest of your life, you find yourself summoned to move to the next ledge higher up. At that some of us get discouraged; some fall off and go down; but most of us brace ourselves for another great big test. Do you see?"
Gladys answered, doubtfully, "I see—a little."
"Well then, the thing we need for the test is pluck, isn't it?"
Gussie spoke dreamily.
"We need pluck for everything."