ject of everyone doing what they were best fitted for—a very good subject, of course; but such illustrations as he used! He said, ‘If you had a cow and an apple tree, and if you tied the apple tree in your stable and planted the cow in your orchard, with her legs up, how much milk would you get from the apple tree, or how many apples from the cow?’ Did you ever hear the like in your born days, dearie? I was so thankful there were no Methodists there that day—they’d never have been done hooting over it. But what I dislike most in him is his habit of agreeing with everybody, no matter what is said. If you said to him, ‘You’re a scoundrel,’ he’d say, with that smooth smile of his, ‘Yes, that’s so.’ A minister should have more backbone. The long and the short of it is, I consider him a reverend jackass. But, of course, this is just between you and me. When there are Methodists in hearing I praise him to the skies. Some folks think his wife dresses too gay, but I say when she has to live with a face like that she needs something to cheer her up. You’ll never hear me condemning a woman for her dress. I’m only too thankful when her husband isn’t too mean and miserly to allow it. Not that I bother much with dress myself. Women just dress to please the men, and I’d never stoop to that. I have had a real placid, comfortable life, dearie, and it’s just because I never cared a cent what the men thought.”
“Why do you hate the men so, Miss Bryant?”
