He just kept puffing on his
cigarette and he said, "Well, it's good to sit back here when the freaks
have turned in and have a quiet smoke. Pretty strenuous work jerking and
pulling on that chain. It's a hard life being a question mark." "You said
something," I told him; "cracky, I wouldn't want to be a _what-is-it._"
He just said, "No, when you grow up, make up your mind whether you're
going to be human or not. Don't try to be two things. Don't be a question
mark. Why away down in my savage, primeval heart, I wouldn't hurt a
kitten. Yet here I am growling and roaring and wrenching at my cage bars
and straining at that old chain, and the children and old ladies back up
on the street when they see me, frightened out of their lives. I'm not
loved by anyone. It's mighty hard. Either one of you kids got a cigarette
about you?"
I told him no, that scouts didn't smoke cigarettes.
He said, "Well, drop in and see me down at Poughkeepsie or Newburgh if you
happen in when we're there. You're always welcome."
Gee, we just couldn't make heads or tails of that fellow. Anyway, I liked
him. And I had to admit that that was good advice he gave me about making
up my mind whether to be human or not.
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