wrenches slipped. The man went on unruffled with the work.
"You don't get mad when it goes wrong, do you?" Bert asked.
The Butterfly Man shook his head. "What's the use? I've seen men curse and rant when a wrench continued to slip. There's no use in cursing at your tools. They'll do what you want them to do if you handle them correctly. You're not given to cursing, are you?"
Bert flushed. "No, sir."
"Right. Man's the only living thing in the world that does. Stupid, isn't it? Ah, now we're getting it. Another minute, sonny, and we'll have this thing right. By the way, I haven't heard your name."
"Bert Quinby."
"All right, Bert, there's your engine of destruction. Where you bound for now?"
Bert didn't know. The turn of the day's adventure had routed lesser considerations.
"Is that your lunch in that package? Some jelly sandwiches? I like homemade jelly sandwiches. Suppose you stay and eat with me. You put in your sandwiches, and I'll make coffee, broil some ham and open a can of beans. Fair enough. Now, while I'm cooking, suppose you run in to my butterfly farm and look it over. Careful of the doors. We've got to keep the beauties in their place. I like them, but not in my food."
