In all my life, in spite of various ups and downs in a fat world, I don't think I was ever before genuinely hungry.

Oh, I've been hungry in a reasonable, civilized way, but I have always known where in an hour or so I could get all I wanted to eat--a condition accountable, in this world, I am convinced, for no end of stupidity.

But to be both physically and, let us say, psychologically hungry, and not to know where or how to get anything to eat, adds something to the zest of life.
By noon on Wednesday, then, I was reduced quite to a point of necessity.
But where was I to begin, and how?
I know from long experience the suspicion with which the ordinary farmer meets the Man of the Road--the man who appears to wish to enjoy the fruits of the earth without working for them with his hands.

It is a distrust deep-seated and ages old.

Nor can the Man of the Road ever quite understand the Man of the Fields.