Me an' the preachers lock horns purty often; but they're all right, most of 'em, when you treat 'em like humans an' make 'em play fair. One of 'em happened out here on a visit, to sort o' rest up, an' he called me some kind of a Persian name an' read me a little book called The Other Wise Man. I reckon I know that book, all except the big names, by heart; an' if one of my stars would ever cut out o' the herd an' go off, slow an' stately on a new trail, why I'd foller that star--God knows I'd foller; an'--I wouldn't let on to no one else except you--but, way down, deep in my heart, I'm hopin' that sometime I'll get the chance.
End Project Gutenberg Etext of Happy Hawkins, by Robert Alexander Wason