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“You mean there’s a mob consciousness?”

“Yes, exactly—a lot of minds rubbing each other, like.”

“I believe you’ve hit it, Mauney,” she said. “I never thought of it like that before. How did you manage to think that out?”

“Well, I’ve always noticed, if I’m in a crowd, that it’s hard for me to stay just as I am when I’m alone. Now, I hate people who are always chirping like chipmunks—you’ll meet them at socials and dances. They don’t say anything that matters and might better keep their mouths shut. But if I get with them I’ll notice how it affects me, for after I leave I feel sort of weak.”

“You must enjoy observing things like that, Mauney.”

“No, I don’t enjoy it,” he replied. “That’s just what I’m up against the whole time at home. My father and brother and the hired girl keep up an endless rattle of talk, all the time, about things that aren’t important. I keep quiet on purpose because I don’t want to talk about them.”

“What sort of things do they discuss?”

“Oh—the price of eggs, what somebody did with a certain horse, who married so-and-so and who she was before she did it, and whether the preacher’s wife is human, and then they’re always teasing Snowball; but he isn’t such a fool as they think he is.”