| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The $30,000 Bequest and Other Stories by Mark Twain: with the Secretary and the Admiral, and go down to the quartermaster--
and below; for there will be groups among the sailors, and each of
these groups will have a tar who is distinguished for his battles,
or his strength, or his daring, or his profanity, and is admired
and envied by his group. The same with the army; the same
with the literary and journalistic craft; the publishing craft;
the cod-fishery craft; Standard Oil; U. S. Steel; the class A hotel--
and the rest of the alphabet in that line; the class A prize-fighter--
and the rest of the alphabet in his line--clear down to the lowest
and obscurest six-boy gang of little gamins, with its one boy
that can thrash the rest, and to whom he is king of Samoa,
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The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Red Seal by Natalie Sumner Lincoln: breakfast?" he asked.
"Yes; Grimes took the tray down some time ago." Helen watched her
father fidget with his watch fob for several minutes, then asked
with characteristic directness. "What do you wish?"
"To see that you have proper medical attention if you are ill," he
returned promptly. "How would a week or ten days at Atlantic City
suit you and Barbara?"
"Not at all." Helen sat up from her reclining position on the
pillows. "You forget, father, that we have a house-guest; Margaret
Brewster is not leaving until May."
"I had not forgotten," curtly. "I propose that she go with us."
The Red Seal |
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The Tragedy of Pudd'nhead Wilson by Mark Twain: She put her cub in Tommy's elegant cradle and said:
"You's young Marse _Tom_ fum dis out, en I got to practice and git used
to 'memberin' to call you dat, honey, or I's gwine to make a mistake
sometime en git us bofe into trouble. Dah--now you lay still en
don't fret no mo', Marse Tom. Oh, thank de lord in heaven, you's saved,
you's saved! Dey ain't no man kin ever sell mammy's po' little
honey down de river now!"
She put the heir of the house in her own child's unpainted pine cradle,
and said, contemplating its slumbering form uneasily:
"I's sorry for you, honey; I's sorry, God knows I is--but what _kin_ I do,
what _could_ I do? Yo' pappy would sell him to somebody, sometime,
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