"Machine-shop." "Still hate it ?" Bibbs nodded again.
"Don't blame you!" the doctor grunted.

"Yes, I expect it'll make a lump in your gizzard again.

Well, what do you say?
Shall I tell him you've got the old lump there yet?
You still want to write, do you ?" "What's the use ?" Bibbs said, smiling ruefully.

"My kind of writing!" "Yes," the doctor agreed.

"I suppose it you broke away and lived on roots and berries until you began to 'attract the favorable attention of editors' you might be able to hope for an income of four or five hundred dollars a year by the time you're fifty." "That's about it," Bibbs murmured.
"Of course I know what you want to do," said Gurney, drowsily.