"Fine drove of geese you've got there," I said to the man.
"Yaw," he answered. "But Ohio geese is peculiar. Gooses won't run with th' ganders."
"No?" I queried. "What's the reason they won't?"
"Wall, jest th' way they's built. Won't run—jest fly, er waddle."
"What most all geese do, don't they?" I asked, much amused.
"Yaw," reiterated the hoosier, grinning; "jest fly, or waddle."
[CHAPTER XVI.]
All the devils are here
Get money; still get money, boy, no matter by what means.—Ben Jonson.
Indiana swamps, woodland, corn fields and log cabins were not unlike those of Ohio. On arriving in New Haven two hours after dark, I was quite tired out, and I think my companions were, too. We had tramped all day without dinner over a road alternately hard and muddy. I would have stopped to rest at a small place called Zulu, but the name sounded so cannibalistic that I looked to my firearms and hurried past.