"YOU'RE buying trouble when you buy a car," the old man said, his gloomy face ajar. "I'd rather walk, as walked my patient sires, than stand in mud and fuss with busted tires. Whene'er you travel in your four-wheeled boat, all things conspire to bear away your goat. Your engine balks, your brakes refuse to hold, your cooling system will not keep things cold. You find new grief no matter where you roam; you must hire mules to haul your tumbril home." "Oh, sage," I said, "what is there on this earth that won't bring grief, however great its worth? You drive a horse, when you would journey hence, and now and then it kicks you through a fence. You have a wife, whom doubtless you adore, but now and then she makes your spirit sore. You like good grub, but when you eat too much, your crippled stomach clamors for a crutch. Why cut out honey, if we like it, friend, because the bee is loaded at one end? Go to, old man! Though all the dotards dote, he is a chump who does not own a boat!" |