XXXV
Poor old Bill Simpkins! Nothing in this world was worth anything; nobody was right; all wrong, all wrong! Simpkins had no kin; and, not marrying, was “just plodding along,” living in a small room, with no fun, no constant company, no social goal to which to look forward; and had, thus, grown into what boys call “a big, old grouch.” But it wasn’t all Simpkins’ fault. A human mind was built for contact with similar minds. It should,—in fact,—it must think about what is going on around it; for, if it is shut up in a thick, dark, bony box of a skull, it will always stay in that condition known as “status quo;” and grow up, antagonistic to all surroundings. But Simpkins didn’t want to growl and grunt. It was practically as annoying to him as to folks around him. But, as soon as that shut-up, solitary mind found anybody wanting it to do anything in confirmation of public opinion,—no! that mind would contract, as a snail in its spiral armor—and balk.
Lady Gadsby and His Honor, in talking about this, had thought of improving such a condition; but Simpkins was not a man to whom you could broach such a thought. It would only bring
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