A WOLF saw a Goat feeding at the summit of a rock, where he could
not get at her.
Why do you stay up there in that sterile1 place and go hungry?
said the Wolf. Down here where I am the broken-bottle vine cometh
up as a flower, the celluloid collar blossoms as the rose, and the
tin-can tree brings forth2 after its kind.
That is true, no doubt, said the Goat, but how about the circus-
poster crop? I hear that it failed this year down there.
The Wolf, perceiving that he was being chaffed, went away and
resumed his duties at the doors of the poor.
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