, 20 THE TRIBES ON MY FRONTIER. 



difference between the two is precisely the difference which 

 there was in Mark Twain's jumping frog before and after 

 the shot was administered to it. Touch a frog ever so 

 tenderly with the point of a stick from behind, and it goes 

 off as if it were sitting on gunpowder, and your stick were 

 a lighted fuse. The stolid toad, on the other hand, meets 

 every hint and every suggestion with a simple vis inertia, 

 and an unwavering perversity and " contrairiness," which 

 must triumph in the e::d. Now, when a man has made up 

 his mind beforehand what his final opinion is to be, it is 

 waste of time to dispute with him ; therefore I always ' 

 clinch the argument at once with my toad. I bully him 

 until he feels thoroughly affronted, and refuses to budge 

 another inch, blowing himself up like an air-pillow, and 

 snorting feebly by way of protest. Then I introduce the 

 point of a springy cane under him, and simply shoot him 

 out at the door. He takes it very ill, but I cannot help 

 that It would be mistaken kindness to let him delude 

 himself with the notion that he is going to get what he 

 wants in the house. I know exactly what it is. As the 

 cold, dry, easterly winds begin to shrivel and crack his 

 parched hide, it crosses his foggy brain in some dim way 

 that a house must contain a lot of cool damp holes and 



