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“No—no, siree! I’m through with ’em!” Sam managed to gasp.

“Umph! Not flocking with ’em much, eh?”

“You bet not! Not after the way they ragged me!”

Lon meditated briefly. “Sam,” he said, “you’re an amazin’ human critter. Fust and last, you have got a power o’ human ways about you. And I reckon most every human with any spunk one time or another makes up his mind the whole world’s against him, and starts in to fight it. So he tries to kick the world ’round for a while, and likely’s not keeps it up until he notices that he’s stubbed his toe and the world ain’t takin’ any interest to speak of.”

“Huh!”

Lon chuckled softly. “Te he! Say! Wonder if I ever told you about old Brodman.”

There was a little pause. Then Sam said, “Guess not.” He spoke half curiously, half unwillingly.

“Well, old Brodman was a pretty decent citizen—all right in his way. But he was jest as human as you, Sam. So it happened once he got to figgerin’ that the town was down on him and treatin’ him mean. ‘I’ll get even with ’em,’ he says to himself; ‘I’ll have nothin’ to do with ’em.’ So off he goes, and flocks all by himself for a good, long spell. At last, though, it gets sorter tiresome, and back he trots, and runs smack into one of his old neighbors. ‘Hello!’ says the neighbor, casual like. ‘How do you do?’ says old Brodman, all dignified. The neighbor yawns and looks at the sky. ‘Kinder threatenin’ rain, ain’t it?’ says he. Old Brodman glares at him. ‘Look here!’ says he, ‘don’t you and all the rest of the town know I’ve been away? Hain’t ye missed me?’ ‘Wal, I wouldn’t exactly call it “missed,”’ says the neighbor. ‘You see, Brodman, ’most everybody thought you was in jail.’”