somebody to identify me."

Captain Sam laughed. "Well, anyhow," he said, "don't talk any more
foolishness about not livin' in your own house. If I was you--"

Mr. Winslow interrupted. "Sam," he said, "the way to find out what
you would do if you was me is to make sure WHAT you'd do--and then
do t'other thing, or somethin' worse."

"Oh, Jed, be reasonable."

Jed looked over his spectacles. "Sam," he drawled, "if I was
reasonable I wouldn't be me."

And he lived no longer in the old house. Having made up his mind,
he built a small two-room addition to his workshop and lived in
that. Later he added a sleeping room--a sort of loft--and a little
covered porch on the side toward the sea. Here, in pleasant summer
twilights or on moonlight nights, he sat and smoked. He had a good
many callers and but few real friends. Most of the townspeople
liked him, but almost all considered him a joke, an oddity, a
specimen to be pointed out to those of the summer people who were
looking for "types." A few, like Mr. Gabriel Bearse, who
distinctly did NOT understand him and who found his solemn
suggestions and pointed repartee irritating at times, were inclined
to refer to him in these moments of irritation as "town crank."
But they did not really mean it when they said it. And some
others, like Leander Babbitt or Captain Hunniwell, came to ask his
advice on personal matters, although even they patronized him just
a little. He had various nicknames, "Shavings" being the most