It is an impossibility to a Brown to leave the most disreputable lame dog on the other side of a stile.

Most other folk get tired of such work.

The old Browns, with red faces, white whiskers, and bald heads, go on believing and fighting to a green old age.

They have always a crotchet going, till the old man with the scythe reaps and garners them away for troublesome old boys as they are.
And the most provoking thing is, that no failures knock them up, or make them hold their hands, or think you, or me, or other sane people in the right.

Failures slide off them like July rain off a duck's back feathers.