“Aren’t you rather overdoing things, Zach?” inquired the distiller. “If my memory serves me rightly, it has been less than five weeks since I gave you a whole keg.” “Well, Colonel,” explained the mendicant, “you got to remember that a kag of licker don’t last very long in a fambly that can’t afford to keep a cow.” § 21 The Ways of the Army The officer of the day was inspecting the guard. “What are your orders?” he inquired of a drafted man. “Sir,” said the sentry, in his newly-acquired military manner “my orders are to be vigilant.” “What does vigilant mean?” said the officer. “I don’t know,” said the sentry. “Call the corporal of the guard and we’ll find out,” said the officer. The corporal of the guard came. “Corporal,” said the officer, “this man here doesn’t know the meaning of the word vigilant. Suppose you tell him.” “It means, sir, to be alert,” answered the corporal promptly. “And what does alert mean?” said the commander, anxious that the lesson should be driven home to the pupil. “I don’t know,” said the corporal. § 22 Remote from the Real Centers A Wyoming ranch foreman was sent East by his employer in charge of a carload of polo ponies. He was gone four weeks. When he arrived back at the ranch he wore an air of unmistakable pleasure and relief. “Gee,” he said, “it’s good to git home again. So fur as I’m concerned I don’t want never to travel no more.” “Didn’t you like New York?” asked one of the hands. “Oh, it’s all right in its way,” he said, “but I don’t keer for it.” “What’s chiefly the matter with it?” “Oh,” he said, “it’s so dad blame far frum everywhere.” § 23 The Way of the Neighborhood It is not so very long ago that life in the Kentucky mountains was primitive. They used to tell a story to illustrate how primitive things actually were. It may not have been true. Probably it wasn’t, but at any rate it was an illustration, even though an exaggerated one, of a prevalent condition. There was a narrow-gauge, jerk-water road which skirted through the knobs. One day the train—there was only one train a day, each way—was laboring slowly upgrade when the engineer halted his locomotive to let a cavalcade cross the track ahead of him. First there streaked past a pack of hounds, all baying. Behind the dogs followed men, on horseback and mule-back, galloping at top speed and cheering the hunt on with shrill whoops and blasts from a horn. The troupe had vanished into the deep timber bordering the right-of-way when a Northern man, riding in the shabby day-coach, addressed a fellow-passenger who was a native. “Sheriff’s posse, I suppose?” he said. “Nope,” said the mountaineer. “Perhaps your people are seeking to lynch somebody?” suggested the Northerner. “No, ’tain’t that neither.” “Then may I ask what is the purpose—the intent—of this chase?”