During many summers, now, I have watched him, when I ought to have been in better business, and I have not yet come across a living ant that seemed to have any more sense than a dead one.
I refer to the ordinary ant, of course; I have had no experience of those wonderful Swiss and African ones which vote, keep drilled armies, hold slaves, and dispute about religion.

Those particular ants may be all that the naturalist paints them, but I am persuaded that the average ant is a sham.

I admit his industry, of course; he is the hardest-working creature in the world--when anybody is looking--but his leather-headedness is the point I make against him.

He goes out foraging, he makes a capture, and then what does he do?
Go home?
No--he goes anywhere but home.

He doesn't know where home is.