The Missing Link and all that is
well enough for kids, but I'm talking about things we know here.
All we know of the Missing Link is that he is missing--and he won't
be missed either. I know all about his human head and his horrid tail;
they belong to a very old game called `Heads I win, tails you lose.'
If you do find a fellow's bones, it proves he lived a long while ago;
if you don't find his bones, it proves how long ago he lived.
That is the game you've been playing with this Smith affair.
Because Smith's head is small for his shoulders you call
him microcephalous; if it had been large, you'd have called it
water-on-the-brain. As long as poor old Smith's seraglio seemed
pretty various, variety was the sign of madness: now, because it's
turning out to be a bit monochrome--now monotony is the sign of madness.
I suffer from all the disadvantages of being a grown-up person,
and I'm jolly well going to get some of the advantages too;
and with all politeness I propose not to be bullied with long words
instead of short reasons, or consider your business a triumphant
progress merely because you're always finding out that you were wrong.
Having relieved myself of these feelings, I have merely to add
that I regard Dr.
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