Remember,myson,youhavetowork.Whetheryouhandleapickorapen,awheel-barroworasetofbooks,diggingditchesoreditingapaper,ringinganauctionbellorwritingfunnythings,youmustwork.Ifyoulookaroundyouwillseethemenwhoarethemostabletolivetherestoftheirdayswithoutworkarethemenwhoworkthehardest.
Don’tbeafraidofkillingyourselfwithoverwork.Itisbeyondyourpowertodothatonthesunnysideofthirty.Theydiesometimes,butitisbecausetheyquitworkatsixintheevening,anddonotgohomeuntiltwointhemorning.It’stheintervalthatkills,myson.Theworkgivesyouanappetiteforyourmeals;itlendssoliditytoyourslumbers;itgivesyouaperfectandgratefulappreciationofaholiday.Thereareyoungmenwhodonotwork,buttheworldisnotproudofthem.
Itdoesnotknowtheirnames;evenitsimplyspeaksofthemas“oldso-and-so’sboy”.Nobodylikesthem;thegreat,busyworlddoesn’tknowthattheyarethere.Sofindoutwhatyouwanttobeanddo,andtakeoffyourcoatandmakeadustintheworld.Thebusieryouare,thelessharmyouwillbeapttogetinto,thesweeterwillbeyoursleep,thebrighterandhappieryourholidays,andthebettersatisfiedwilltheworldbewithyou.