"What do you mean by that?" Phil demanded. "What sort of men do you
mean?"
"I mean the sort that never do anything of their own free wills; the
sort that have someone else to think for them, and feed them, and take
care of them and take all the responsibility for what they do or do not
do. I mean those who are dependents, and those who aspire to be
dependent. I can't see that it makes any essential difference whether
they have inherited wealth and what we call culture, or whether they are
poverty-stricken semi-imbeciles like Joe; the principle is the same."
As they dismounted at the home corral gate, Phil looked at his companion
curiously. "You seem mighty interested in Joe," he said, with a smile.
"I am," retorted Patches. "He reminds me of--of some one I know," he
finished, with his old, self-mocking smile. "I have a fellow feeling
for him, the same as you have for that wild horse, you know. I'd like to
take him away from Nick, and see if it would be possible to make a real
man of him," he mused, more to himself than to his companion.
"I don't believe I'd try any experiments along that line, Patches,"
cautioned Phil.
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