“I said, I think,” he answered, “that no matter what some folks mought believe about the starry heavens, no man ever diskivered a big world with a tail to it through a spy-glass without bein' convinced that thar was other globes in the business besides jest this un.”
Dole drew himself up straight and gazed broadly over his congregation. He felt that in the estimation of unimaginative, prosaic people like his flock Abner's defence would certainly fall.
“Kin I ax,” he asked, sternly, “how you happen to think like you do?”
Abner grasped the back of the bench in front of him and pulled himself up, only to sink back hesitatingly into his seat. “Would it be out o' order fer me to stand?” he questioned.
Dole spread a hard, triumphant smile over the congregation. “Not at all, if it will help you to give a sensible answer to my question.”
“Oh, I kin talk settin',” retorted the man on trial. “I jest didn't know what was right an' proper, an' I 'lowed I could hit that spit-box better standin' than I kin over brother Tarver's legs.”
The man referred to quickly slid along the bench, giving Abner his place near the aisle, and Abner calmly emptied his mouth in the wooden box filled with sawdust and wiped his lips.
“I hardly know why I think like I do about other worlds,” he answered, slowly, “unless it's beca'se I've always had the notion that the universe is sech a powerful, whoppin' big thing. Most folks believe that the spot they inhabit is about all thar is to creation, anyway. That's human natur'. About the biggest job I ever tackled was to drive a hungry cow from bad grass into a good patch. She wants to stay thar an' eat, an' that's about the way it is with folks. They are short-sighted. It makes most of 'em mad to tell 'em they kin better the'r condition. I've always believed that's the reason they make the bad place out so bad; they've made up the'r minds to live thar, an' they ain't a-goin' to misrepresent it. They are out o' fire-wood in this life an' want to have a good sweat in the next.”