They Got Me Into The Sunday-School In Spoon River And Tried To Get Me To Drop Confucius For Jesus. I Could Have Been No Worse Off If I Had Tried To Get Them To Drop Jesus For Confucius. For, Without Any Warning, As If It Were A Prank, And Sneaking Up Behind Me, Harry Wiley, The Minister'S Son, Caved My Ribs Into My Lungs, With A Blow Of His Fist. Now I Shall Never Sleep With My Ancestors In Pekin, And No Children Shall Worship At My Grave.