I spoke out of a long silence, the slack, luxurious silence of digestion.
I got no answer, naturally, from the torpid Lin, and then it occurred to
me that he would have asked me what I thought, long before this, had he
known. So, observing how comfortable he was, I began differently.

"What is the most important event that can happen in this country?" said
I.

Mr. McLean heard me where he lay along the floor of the cabin on his
back, dozing by the fire; but his eyes remained closed. He waggled one
limp, open hand slightly at me, and torpor resumed her dominion over him.

"I want to know what you consider the most important event that can
happen in this country," said I, again, enunciating each word with slow
clearness.

The throat and lips of Mr. McLean moved, and a sulky sound came forth
that I recognized to be meant for the word "War." Then he rolled over so
that his face was away from me, and put an arm over his eyes.

"I don't mean country in the sense of United States," said I. "I mean
this country here, and Bear Creek, and--well, the ranches southward for
fifty miles, say. Important to this section."

"Mosquitoes'll be due in about three weeks," said Lin. "Yu' might leave a
man rest till then."

"I want your opinion," said I.