“I have so,” said Shawn.
The Philosopher’s voice came pealing through the darkness.
“There is no need to pinch me, sir,” said he.
“I’m not pinching you at all,” said the man.
“You are so,” returned the Philosopher. “You have a big lump of skin doubled up in the sleeve of my coat, and unless you instantly release it I will sit down in the road.”
“Is that any better?” said the man, relaxing his hold a little.
“You have only let out half of it,” replied the Philosopher. “That’s better now,” he continued, and they resumed their journey.
After a few minutes of silence the Philosopher began to speak.
“I do not see any necessity in nature for policemen,” said he, “nor do I understand how the custom first originated. Dogs and cats do not employ these extraordinary mercenaries, and yet their polity is progressive and orderly. Crows are a gregarious race with settled habitations and an organized commonwealth. They usually congregate in a ruined tower or on the top of a church, and their civilization is based on mutual aid and tolerance for each other’s idiosyncrasies. Their exceeding mobility and hardiness renders them dangerous to attack, and thus they are free to devote themselves to the development of their domestic laws and customs. If policemen were necessary to a civilization crows would certainly have evolved them, but I triumphantly insist that they have not got any policemen in their republic—”
“I don’t understand a word you are saying,” said the sergeant.