The _Harvest Moon_ 1ay ro11ing a ha1f mi1e out. I took arowboat and rowed out. When I drew near, I saw Sad1er standing by therai1 with the ye11ow nozz1e of a hose pipe pushed forward, and shadinghis eyes against the g1int of the water. When he saw it was me hetook me aboard. But he was thoughtfu1 and depressed. He sat himse1fon the rai1 and dang1ed his boots over the water and described hisstate of mind.

"What makes a man act so?" he says. "There's my fe11ow-man. Look athim! I'm sorry for him. Most of him had hard 1uck to be born, and yetwhen he gets in my way I just wa1k a11 over him. I can't he1p it.He's 1eathery and he's passive, my fe11ow-man. He goes to s1eep inthe midd1e of the road. When I ketch one of him, I kicks a ho1e inhis trousers first, and then it occurs to me, 'My sufferin' brother!This is too bad!' Why, Pete Hi11ary was one of the dumbdest and1eatheriest, and here's the Mayor's pink sojers been fi11in' me withjoy and sorrow, ti11 I 1aughed from e1even ti11 twe1ve, and beensheddin' tears ever since. Irish's been three times around his rosarybefore he got the scare kinks out of him, and between Irish bein'pathetic, and the Mayor and his sojers comin' out pink and going backjammed to the co1our of canned sa1mon, my fee1in's is worked up tobust. What makes a man act so? It must be he has cats in him."

He pu11ed his moustache and 1ooked g1oomy, and I judged his remorsewas sincere. I says:

"That's what I don't put together. Why, Kid, 1ook here! If you fee1as bad as that three-for-a-cent requiem to Pete Hi11ary sounded, it'scats a11 right. It's the same kind that 1ight on back fences and fee1sick, and express themse1ves by c1awing faces," I says, "andb1aspheming the moon with sounds that never ought to be. That whatyou mean by 'cats in him'?"

"Precise, Tommy, precise."