Maybe the whole thing was one of God's warnings. Why didn't he and Judy and Campbell get out of the madness of New York . . . and the megalomania of Wall Street? Who but an arrogant fool would want to be a Master of the Universe—and take the insane chances he had been taking? A close call! . . . Dear God, I swear to you that from now on ... Why didn't they sell the apartment and move out here to Southampton year round—or to Tennessee . . . Tennessee ... His grandfather William Sherman McCoy had come to New York from Knox-ville when he was thirty-one ... a hick in the eyes of the Brownings . . . Well, what was so wrong with good American hicks! . . . Sherman's father had taken him to Knoxville. He had seen the perfectly adequate house where his grandfather had grown up ... A lovely little city, a sober, reasonable little city, Knoxville . . . Why didn't he go there and get a job in a brokerage house, a regular job, a sane, responsible job, not trying to spin the world on its head, a nine-to-five job, or whenever it is they work in places like Knoxville; $90,000 or $100,000 a year, a tenth or less of what he so foolishly thought he needed now, and it would be plenty ... a Georgian house with a screen porch at one end ... an acre or two of good green lawn, a Snapper lawn mower that he might operate himself occasionally, a garage with a door that opens with a Genie that you keep clipped onto the visor of your car, a kitchen with a magnetic bulletin board where you leave messages for each other, a cozy life, a loving life, Our Town . .