I wish to make a moral observation upon a physical basis: Major, if the formula of your destiny were identical with the pig’s, you would give rise to more discordant vocalization than even that disgruntled animal.
Bluegrass.
He may be the most useful animal upon this magnificent star of ours; but though his good points were as many as his bristles, they could not excuse his shortcomings. The limited geographical prospects of his pen should make him deeply contemplative of the stars; instead of which he roots deeply in the earth. Hence he takes a step backwards, and, instead of increasing his wit, he increases only his weight.
Scythe.
Man is like a reversed vegetable that has swallowed its roots and walked off on its branches. Why, what is that at my feet? Let me pick it up tenderly. Hurrah! I’ve got a geologic pebble! See, Mayor Whetstone, what a rare, grand specimen for the prehistoric museum of the Cornville Academy!
Whetstone.
What’s it worth?
Scythe.
Worth! Mercenary man! Let us reverently take off our hats in its presence. It’s worth more than all the property in Cornville. See, Major, see!
Bluegrass.