Do you know what a micro is?  It’s the kind with the little heads no bigger than your fist.  They’re usually droolers, and they live a long time.  The hydros don’t drool.  They have the big heads, and they’re smarter.  But they never grow up.  They always die.  I never look at one without thinking he’s going to die.  Sometimes, when I’m feeling lazy, or the nurse is mad at me, I wish I was a drooler with nothing to do and somebody to feed me.  But I guess I’d sooner talk and be what I am.

Only yesterday Doctor Dalrymple said to me, “Tom,” he said, “I just don’t know what I’d do without you.”  And he ought to know, seeing as he’s had the bossing of a thousand feebs for going on two years.  Dr. Whatcomb was before him.  They get appointed, you know.  It’s politics.  I’ve seen a whole lot of doctors here in my time.  I was here before any of them.  I’ve been in this institution twenty-five years.  No, I’ve got no complaints.  The institution couldn’t be run better.

It’s a snap to be a high-grade feeb.  Just look at Doctor Dalrymple.  He has troubles.  He holds his job by politics.  You bet we high-graders talk politics.  We know all about it, and it’s bad.  An institution like this oughtn’t to be run on politics.  Look at Doctor Dalrymple.  He’s been here two years and learned a lot.  Then politics will come along and throw him out and send a new doctor who don’t know anything about feebs.

I’ve been acquainted with just thousands of nurses in my time.  Some of them are nice.  But they come and go.  Most of the women get married.  Sometimes I think I’d like to get married.  I spoke to Dr. Whatcomb about it once, but he told me he was very sorry, because feebs ain’t allowed to get married.  I’ve been in love.  She was a nurse.  I won’t tell you her name.  She had blue eyes, and yellow hair, and a kind voice, and she liked me.  She told me so.  And she always told me to be a good boy.  And I was, too, until afterward, and then I ran away.  You see, she went off and got married, and she didn’t tell me about it.

I guess being married ain’t what it’s cracked up to be.  Dr. Anglin and his wife used to fight.  I’ve seen them.  And once I heard her call him a feeb.  Now nobody has a right to call anybody a feeb that ain’t.  Dr. Anglin got awful mad when she called him that.  But he didn’t last long.  Politics drove him out, and Doctor Mandeville came.  He didn’t have a wife.  I heard him talking one time with the engineer.  The engineer and his wife fought like cats and dogs, and that day Doctor Mandeville told him he was damn glad he wasn’t tied to no petticoats.  A petticoat is a skirt.  I knew what he meant, if I was a feeb.  But I never let on.  You hear lots when you don’t let on.

I’ve seen a lot in my time.  Once I was adopted, and went away on the railroad over forty miles to live with a man named Peter Bopp and his wife.  They had a ranch.  Doctor Anglin said I was strong and bright, and I said I was, too.  That was because I wanted to be adopted.  And Peter Bopp said he’d give me a good home, and the lawyers fixed up the papers.