“Yeth, we got it,” lisped Middleton. “We tholved it.”
“I hope you didn’t jump at it suddenlike,” grinned Magpie.
“No, thir. Not thudden.”
“I reckon it’s a mistake to say that all shepherds are crazy,” observed Magpie. “Cow-men use that expression more because they hate sheep than because the shepherd is loco. They figure that any man is crazy who would herd sheep. Sabe?
“What is your scientific opinion, gents? Do you think they’re crazy?”
I looked at Middleton inquiringly, and he nodded.
“I will thupport you, Pettingill.”
“Well,” said I, “after personal observation, I will say this much: If he isn’t crazy to begin with, and doesn’t go crazy—he is a superman.”
“Reckon the sheep are to blame?” asked Adams.
“Of courth,” lisped Middleton, caressing his back, “the theep are primarily rethponthible, but I’d thay that the greater evil cometh from general wear and tear.”