AN UNOFFICIAL BACCALAUREATE
of the world is very much like a great game, and all real men want to be in it. A scramble, a struggle?—assuredly, but so is football, and both are worth it for the thrill of the contest, even if you cannot win the championship. And those cares? responsibilities? Yes, they are there in abundance, but all as normal parts of the game. Bucking up against them adds to the zest, and losing is better than not playing on the team at all. And if you are disabled and carried off the field—hard luck, but that's nothing against the game itself.
The trouble is that to you fellows work has always meant something you did not want to do, but had to; a task imposed upon you by those in authority, something that intervened between you and a good time. You aren't really so lazy as you suppose. You have simply misapplied your energy because you weren't old enough to know any better, or else because you have not yet found your proper position on the team, and hence have not discovered the true joy of the great game called the world's work.
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