ain't no demagog!' And he comes forward shouting, 'Oh yeah I am, I'm the best damn demagog in this state!' And you should hear them people roar! Whew!"
"Quite a show," Rayber said, "but what is it but a...."
"Mother Hubbard," the barber muttered. "You been taken in by 'em all right. Lemme tell you somethin'...." He reviewed Hawkson's Fourth of July speech. It had been another killeroo, ending with poetry. Who was Darmon? Hawk wanted to know. Yeah, who was Darmon? the crowd had roared. Why, didn't they know? Why, he was Little Boy Blue, blowin' his horn. Yeah. Babies in the meadow and niggers in the corn. Man! Rayber should have heard that one. No Mother Hubbard could have stood up under it.
Rayber thought that if the barber would read a few....
Listen, he didn't have to read nothin'. All he had to do was think. That was the trouble with people these days--they didn't think, they didn't use their horse sense. Why wasn't Rayber thinkin'? Where was his horse sense?
Why am I straining myself? Rayber thought irritably.
"Nossir!" the barber said, "big words don't do nobody no good. They don't take the place of thinkin'."
