“Well—­sounds as if it covered the ground.  It certainly is a fine thing to be able to orate.  I’ve sometimes thought I had a little talent that way myself, and I know darn well that one reason why a fourflushing old back-number like Chan Mott can get away with it in real estate is just because he can make a good talk, even when he hasn’t got a doggone thing to say!  And it certainly is pretty cute the way they get out all these courses on various topics and subjects nowadays.  I’ll tell you, though:  No need to blow in a lot of good money on this stuff when you can get a first-rate course in eloquence and English and all that right in your own school—­and one of the biggest school buildings in the entire country!”

“That’s so,” said Mrs. Babbitt comfortably, while Ted complained: 

“Yuh, but Dad, they just teach a lot of old junk that isn’t any practical use—­except the manual training and typewriting and basketball and dancing—­and in these correspondence-courses, gee, you can get all kinds of stuff that would come in handy.  Say, listen to this one: 

’Can you play A man’s part?

’If you are walking with your mother, sister or best girl and some one passes a slighting remark or uses improper language, won’t you be ashamed if you can’t take her part?  Well, can you?

’We teach boxing and self-defense by mail.  Many pupils have written saying that after a few lessons they’ve outboxed bigger and heavier opponents.  The lessons start with simple movements practised before your mirror—­holding out your hand for a coin, the breast-stroke in swimming, etc.  Before you realize it you are striking scientifically, ducking, guarding and feinting, just as if you had a real opponent before you.’”

“Oh, baby, maybe I wouldn’t like that!” Ted chanted.  “I’ll tell the world!  Gosh, I’d like to take one fellow I know in school that’s always shooting off his mouth, and catch him alone—­”

“Nonsense!  The idea!  Most useless thing I ever heard of!” Babbitt fulminated.

“Well, just suppose I was walking with Mama or Rone, and somebody passed a slighting remark or used improper language.  What would I do?”

“Why, you’d probably bust the record for the hundred-yard dash!”

“I would not!  I’d stand right up to any mucker that passed a slighting remark on my sister and I’d show him—­”

“Look here, young Dempsey!  If I ever catch you fighting I’ll whale the everlasting daylights out of you—­and I’ll do it without practising holding out my hand for a coin before the mirror, too!”

“Why, Ted dear,” Mrs. Babbitt said placidly, “it’s not at all nice, your talking of fighting this way!”

“Well, gosh almighty, that’s a fine way to appreciate—­And then suppose I was walking with you, Ma, and somebody passed a slighting remark—­”

“Nobody’s going to pass no slighting remarks on nobody,” Babbitt observed, “not if they stay home and study their geometry and mind their own affairs instead of hanging around a lot of poolrooms and soda-fountains and places where nobody’s got any business to be!”