It was the herb-doctor in person. Carpet-bag in hand, he happened to be strolling back that way.
"Pardon me," addressing the Missourian, "but if I caught your words aright, you would seem to have little confidence in nature; which, really, in my way of thinking, looks like carrying the spirit of distrust pretty far."
"And who of my sublime species may you be?" turning short round upon him, clicking his rifle-lock, with an air which would have seemed half cynic, half wild-cat, were it not for the grotesque excess of the expression, which made its sincerity appear more or less dubious.
"One who has confidence in nature, and confidence in man, with some little modest confidence in himself."
"That's your Confession of Faith, is it? Confidence in man, eh? Pray, Which do you think are most, knaves or fools?"
"Having met with few or none of either, I hardly think I am competent to answer."
"I will answer for you. Fools are most."
"Why do you think so ?"
"For the same reason that I think oats are numerically more than horses. Don't knaves munch up fools just as horses do oats?"
"A droll, sir; you are a droll. I can appreciate drollery—ha, ha, ha!"
"But I'm in earnest."
"That's the drollery, to deliver droll extravagance with an earnest air—knaves munching up fools as horses
