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“Worst winter I ever saw—yah!”

Sam Parker shook his head doubtfully. “Oh, I don’t know about that, Step. Seems to me this is a good deal like all the rest of ’em.”

“And if you want something to keep you busy, there’s always school,” put in the Trojan with a chuckle.

“School? Oh, thunder!” snapped Step with scorn.

Poke Green waved a hand, an oratorical hand; thereby signifying that he had reached a readiness to address the meeting.

“Listen, you fellows! You don’t know what you’re talking about, because you start in and say things first and think about ’em afterward. So you get ’em about half right and half wrong.”

“Go it, old Solomon!” Herman Boyd encouraged.

Poke needed no spur. “Here’s Step calling this the worst winter that ever was, which it isn’t. And here’s Sam trying to make out that it’s just like any other winter, which it isn’t, either. If this climate ever got as monotonous as all that, it’d go out of business. There have been better winters that I can remember, and there have been worse. The trouble with all of them is that there is too much of a muchness about them.”