ed into a nearby city
of, say, twenty thousand, we encountered a beer truck of great size and
on its seat so large and ruddy and obese a German as one might go a long
way and still not see. It was very hot. The German was drowsy and taking
his time in the matter of driving. As we drew near, Culhane suddenly
called a halt and, lining us up as was his rule, called to the horses of
the brewery wagon, who also obeyed his lusty "Whoa!" The driver, from
his high perch above, stared down on us with mingled curiosity and
wonder.

"Now, here's an illustration of what I mean," Culhane began, apropos of
nothing at all, "when I say that the word man ought to be modified or
changed in some way so that when we use it we would mean something more
definite than we mean now. That thing you see sitting up on that
wagon-seat there--call that a man? And then call me one? Or a man like
Charles A. Dana? Or a man like General Grant? Hell! Look at him! Look at
his shape! Look at that stomach! You think a thing like that--call it a
man if you want to--has any brains or that he's really any better than a
pig in a sty? If you turn a horse out to shift for himself he'll eat
just enough to keep in condition; same way with a dog, a cat or a bird.
But let one of these things, that some people call a _man_, come along,
give him a job and enough money or a chance to stuff himself, and see
what happens. A thing like that connects himself with one end of a beer
hose and then he thinks he's all right. He gets enough guts to start a
sausage factory, and then he blows up, I suppose, or rots. Think of it!
And we call him a man--or some do!"

During this amazing and wholly unexpected harangue (I never saw him stop
any one before), the heavy driver, who did not understand English very
well, first gazed and then strained with his eyebrows, not being able
quite to make out what it was all about. From the chuckling and laughter
that finally set up in one place and another he began dimly to
comprehend that he was being made fun of, used as an unsatisfactory jest
of some kind. Finally his face clouded for a storm and his eyes blazed,
the while his fat red cheeks grew redder. "_Donnervetter!_" he began
gutturally to roar. "_Schweine hunde! Hunds knoche! Nach der polizei
soll man reufen!_"

I for one pulled my horse cautiously back, as he cracked a great whip,
and, charging savagely through us, drove on. Culhane, having made his
unkind comments, gave orders for ou