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 me? I work like the devil, and I don't get anything out of it. I win a wife, and I can't keep her. I have a son, and he's taken away from me. I've made a lot of money, but I can't ever get my hands on any of it to spend. I've built a great business, and so help me God, I'm tortured half the time for fear they're going to take it away from me! What's the matter with me anyway?"

"You're a hell-paver!" diagnosed the doctor again.

"But I'm not one of these sapheads that just dream of doing things," resented George. "I do 'em, I'm a performer."

"And a lot of hell-pavers are performers. That's how they fool themselves. Your scheme of life looks to you like a masterpiece. It would to a lot of people. They wouldn't see where the hell-paving comes in."

"You'll have to show me," challenged the man stubbornly.

"And I will show you," rejoined the doctor resolutely. "There are two kinds of hell-pavers, the weak and the strong; the little and the big. The weak intend and stop there. The strong perform all right, but they leave fatal gaps in their biggest performances that rob them of the fruits of their efforts just as you see that you yourself have been robbed. Recall your simile of the unfinished bridge a while ago—you've