safe way to drive him is
hind-side first. I suppose that you could train one to travel that way,
but it really doesn't seem worth while when good roadsters are so cheap.

That's the way I feel about these young fellows who lazy along trying to
turn in at every gate where there seems to be a little shade, and
sulking and balking whenever you say "git-ap" to them. They are the men
who are always howling that Bill Smith was promoted because he had a
pull, and that they are being held down because the manager is jealous
of them. I've seen a good many pulls in my time, but I never saw one
strong enough to lift a man any higher than he could raise himself by
his boot straps, or long enough to reach through the cashier's window
for more money than its owner earned.

When a fellow brags that he has a pull, he's a liar or his employer's a
fool. And when a fellow whines that he's being held down, the truth is,
as a general thing, that his boss can't hold him up. He just picks a
nice, soft spot, stretches out flat on his back, and yells that some
heartless brute has knocked him down and is sitting on his chest.

A good man is as full of bounce as a cat with a small boy and a bull
terrier after him. When he's thrown to the dog from the second-story
window, he fixes while he's sailing through the air to land right, and
when the dog jumps for the spot where he hits, he isn't there, but in
the top of the tree across the street. He's a good deal like the little
red-headed cuss that we saw in the football game you took me to. Every
time the herd stampeded it would start in to trample and paw and gore
him. One minute the whole bunch would be on top of him and the next he
would be loping off down the range, spitting out hair and pieces of
canvas jacket, or standing on one side as cool as a hog on ice, watching
the mess unsnarl and the removal of the cripples.

I didn't understand football, but I understood that little sawed-off. He
knew his business. And when a fellow knows his business, he doesn't have
to explain to people that he does. It isn't what a man knows, but what
he thinks he knows that he brags about. Big talk means little knowledge.

There's a vast difference between having a carload of miscellaneous
facts sloshing around loose in your head and getting all mixed up in
transit, and carrying the same assortment properly boxed and crated for
convenient handling and immediate delivery. A ham never weighs so much
as when it's h