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By Booth Tarkington: Bibbs--dear

The roar of the city beat upon Bibbs's ear until he began to distinguish a pulsation; the voice of the god, Bigness. "Come and work for me, all men! By your youth and your hope, I summon you! By your age and your despair! By your love of home and woman and children! You shall be blind slaves. For reward you shall gaze only upon my ugliness."

Then the voice came as music struggling to be born of the Turmoil. "It is man who makes me ugly by his worship of me. If man would let me serve him I should be beautiful."

From the vague contortions of smoke and fog Bibbs sculptured a gigantic figure with feet pedestaled upon the great buildings and shoulders disappearing in the clouds, a colossus of steel, wholly blackened with soot. He thought up over the clouds; unseen from below, the giant labored with his hands in the clean sunshine; and Bibbs imaged what he made there--perhaps for a fellowship of the children of the children that were children now--a noble and joyous city, unbelievably white.

The telephone fiercely summoned him. A startlingly beautiful voice caused him to tremble violently. "Yes, Bibbs, I was near the accident. They said you hadn't been hurt, but I wanted to know." "Mary--would you--would you have minded?"