"But—but that's ridiculous, Hank. You can't know—"
"I do know, Jim. Afore I met Helen, I never worried none about the future, let every day take care of itself. But when we planned on gettin' hitched, I started figgerin' out the logical results, the results that had to be, by natcheral cause an' effect—"
He shrugged. "An' that's the answer. So it's better to never start the chain that'd make us all unhappy."
He held out a bronzed paw. "It's been nice knowin' you, Jim. You come visit me once in a while, will you? An' if you ever get in a jam an' I can help, just say the word."
I said, "So you mean it, then? The world offers you everything—fame, money, glory, love—and you're going to stay here in this—this cheesy little old turnip patch!"
"Don't say that, Jim!" said Hank swiftly. "This is the best place in the world for me. 'Cause I'm too durn logical. An' this is the one place where I'm at a disadvantage."
"What," I asked, wondering, "do you mean?"
He shook his head, dolefully this time.
"Turnips!" said Horse-sense Hank. "Everything else in the whole wide world I can figger the results of. But turnips is hell. It don't matter where you plant 'em or what you try, they don't never do what you expect 'em to."