"I have seen three harbors," I said to myself. "My father's harbor which is now dead, Dillon's harbor of big companies which is very much alive, and Joe Kramer's harbor which is struggling to be born. It's an interesting age to live in. I should like to write the truth as I see it about each kind of harbor. But I need the money—my wife is going to have a child. So I'll take that steady position and try to grind part of the truth away."
"What have you been doing?" Eleanore asked when I came home. "You look like a ghost."
"Not at all," I replied. "I've been getting a job."
"Tell me about it."
I told her part. She went and got her sewing, and settled herself comfortably for a quiet evening's work. Eleanore loved baby clothes.
"Now begin again and tell me all," she ordered. And she persisted until I did.
"It won't do," she said, when I had finished.
"It will do," I replied decidedly. "It's the best thing in sight. It will see us through till the baby is born. After all, it's only for a year."
"It's a mighty important year for you, my love," said Eleanore. She thoughtfully held up and surveyed a tiny infant's nightgown. "If you do this you'll be giving up. It's not writing your best. It's giving up what you think is the truth. And that's a bad habit to get into."