"Ever read Thoreau, son?"
Sutton shook his head, trying to remember. The name struck a chord of memory. There had been a fragment in a book of ancient literature in his college days. All that was left of what was believed to have been an extensive piece of writing.
"You ought to," the old man told him. "He had the right idea, Thoreau did."
Sutton rose and dusted off his trousers.
"Stick around," the old man said. "You ain't bothering me. Hardly at all."
"Got to be getting along," said Sutton.
"Hunt me up some other time," the old man said. "We could talk some more. My name is Cliff, but they call me Old Cliff now. Just ask for Old Cliff. Everybody knows me."
"Someday," Sutton said politely, "I'll do just that."
"Care for another snort before you go?"
"No, thank you," said Sutton, backing off. "No, thank you very much."