Perfectly straight line-straight as the way to the grave.

And see where it leaves Hawkeye-clear out in the cold, my dear, clear out in the cold.

That town's as bound to die as--well if I owned it I'd get its obituary ready, now, and notify the mourners.

Polly, mark my words--in three years from this, Hawkeye'll be a howling wilderness.

You'll see.