They got to be just like that Four Hundred you read about in the papers.

It was one continual round of grasshopper balls, race meets, and afternoon hen-parties.

They got idle and haughty, just like folks.

Then come race suicide.

They got to feelin' so aristocratic the hens wouldn't have no eggs." Nobody dared say a word.
"Windy Bill's snake--" began the narrator genially.
"Stranger," broke in Windy Bill, with great emphasis, "as to that snake, I want you to understand this: yereafter in my estimation that snake is nothin' but an ornery angleworm!".