Filmer's face twitched.
"Now, see here," he blurted out, and his eyes flashed, "the folks round here ain't going to stand for this rot, and I don't blame 'em. When they think it over, they'll get drunker than ever, and they'll even up with you later. You've got to learn more than you've learned already. Feelings are private property and outsiders better keep off. Come home to dinner. You look like a pricked bladder. This here gassing 'bout things what ain't worthwhile don't pay. Here, lean on me. It's all gol-durned nonsense using yourself up so."
He took Drew firmly by the arm, and led him away.
Drew was too weak to continue, even had he desired to do so, the conversation Filmer had forced upon him, but when they were smoking in the late afternoon Jock returned to the subject.
"I was just wondering," he said, through the haze; "ain't there never no let up to that new-fangled idea of yours?"
"None. That's the beauty of it."
"Beauty? Huh! Well, we'll drop it. Feel like toddling down to Gaston's?" Drew rose at once.
They passed down the pine-covered path slowly, and as they neared Gaston's shack, Filmer paused.
"Wherever you be," he began slowly, "as occasion permits, you're going to air them sentiments?"
"I'm going to live them. I may never have a chance to preach them. I'm a bit discouraged about the weakness that followed my first attempt."