into each other and began to fight. Now one must die, and I'm just
fixing these little steel points on for them so the function can
be performed decently. I'm a man of fine feelings."

"You're a brute when you let them kill one another with gaffs."

"Nonsense. The fighting instinct is elemental in all animal
life--two-legged and four-legged. Animals fight as inevitably as
they breathe. You can trace the progress of man by the evolution
of his weapons--the stone, the spear, the bow and arrow, the sword,
the gun."

"Well, you're not going to have the fight this morning. Put up
those inventions of the devil and come into the house."

"All right. You're a parson; I'll not allow them to fight. I'll just
chop the head off of one and let you eat him for dinner." Overman
grinned, and pierced Gordon with his gleaming eye.

"It would be more sensible than the exhibition of brutality you
were preparing."

"Not from the rooster's point of view, or mine. I love chickens.
If I tried to eat one it would choke me. But I can see your mouth
watering now, looking at that fat young pullet over there, dreaming
of the dinner hour when you expect to smash her beautiful white
breast between your cannibal jaws. Funny men, preachers!"

Gordon laughed. "After all, you may be right. Our deepest culture
is about skin deep. Scratch any of us with the right tool and you'll