``Gosh all fishhooks!'' Ted wailed to Eunice, as they wolfed hot chocolate, lumps of nougat, and an assortment of glacé nuts, in the mosaic splendor of the Royal Drug Store, ``it gets me why Dad doesn't just pass out from being so poky. Every evening he sits there, about half-asleep, and if Rone or I say, `Oh, come on, let's do something,' he doesn't even take the trouble to think about it. He just yawns and says, `Naw, this suits me right here.' He doesn't know there's any fun going on anywhere. I suppose he must do some thinking, same as you and I do, but gosh, there's no way of telling it. I don't believe that outside of the office and playing a little bum golf on Saturday he knows there's anything in the world to do except just keep sitting there-sitting there every night -- not wanting to go anywhere -- not wanting to do anything -- thinking us kids are crazy -- sitting there -- Lord!''