Me？ I’m not a drooler. I’m the assistant， I don’t knowwhat Miss Jones or Miss Kelsey could do without me.
There are fifty-five low-grade droolers in this ward， andhow could they ever all be fed if I wasn’t around？ I liketo feed droolers. They don’t make trouble. They can’t.
Something’s wrong with most of their legs and arms， andthey can’t talk. They’re very low-grade. I can walk， andtalk， and do things. You must be careful with the droolersand not feed them too fast. Then they choke. Miss Jonessays I’m an expert. When a new nurse comes I show herhow to do it. It’s funny watching a new nurse try to feedthem. She goes at it so slow and careful that supper timewould be around before she finished shoving down theirbreakfast. Then I show her， because I’m an expert. Dr.
Dalrymple says I am， and he ought to know. A drooler caneat twice as fast if you know how to make him.
My name’s Tom. I’m twenty-eight years old. Everybodyknows me in the institution. This is an institution， youknow. It belongs to the State of California and is run bypolitics. I know. I’ve been here a long time. Everybodytrusts me. I run errands all over the place， when I’m notbusy with the droolers. I like droolers. It makes me thinkhow lucky I am that I ain’t a drooler.
I like it here in the Home. I don’t like the outside. Iknow. I’ve been around a bit， and run away， and adopted.
Me for the Home， and for the drooling ward best of all. Idon’t look like a drooler， do I？ You can tell the differencesoon as you look at me. I’m an assistant， expert assistant.
That’s going some for a feeb. Feeb？ Oh， that’s feebleminded.
I thought you knew. We’re all feebs in here.
But I’m a high-grade feeb. Dr. Dalrymple says I’m toosmart to be in the Home， but I never let on. It’s a prettygood place. And I don’t throw fits like lots of the feebs.
You see that house up there through the trees. The highgradeepilecs all live in it by themselves. They’re stuckup because they ain’t just ordinary feebs. They call it theclub house， and they say they’re just as good as anybodyoutside， only they’re sick. I don’t like them much. Theylaugh at me， when they ain’t busy throwing fits. But I don’tcare. I never have to be scared about falling down andbusting my head. Sometimes they run around in circlestrying to find a place to sit down quick， only they don’t.
Low-grade epilecs are disgusting， and high-grade epilecsput on airs. I’m glad I ain’t an epilec. There ain’t anythingto them. They just talk big， that’s all.
Miss Kelsey says I talk too much. But I talk sense， andthat’s more than the other feebs do. Dr. Dalrymple saysI have the gift of language. I know it. You ought to hearme talk when I’m by myself， or when I’ve got a drooler tolisten. Sometimes I think I’d like to be a politician， onlyit’s too much trouble. They’re all great talkers； that’s howthey hold their jobs.
Nobody’s crazy in this institution. They’re just feeblein their minds. Let me tell you something funny. There’sabout a dozen high-grade girls that set the tables in thebig dining room. Sometimes when they’re done aheadof time， they all sit down in chairs in a circle and talk. Isneak up to the door and listen， and I nearly die to keepfrom laughing. Do you want to know what they talk？ It’slike this. They don’t say a word for a long time. And thenone says， “Thank God I’m not feeble-minded.” And all therest nod their heads and look pleased. And then nobodysays anything for a time. After which the next girl in thecircle says， “Thank God I’m not feeble-minded，” and theynod their heads all over again. And it goes on around thecircle， and they never say anything else. Now they’re realfeebs， ain’t they？ I leave it to you. I’m not that kind of afeeb， thank God.
Sometimes I don’t think I’m a feeb at all. I play in theband and read music. We’re all supposed to be feebs inthe band except the leader. He’s crazy. We know it， but wenever talk about it except amongst ourselves. His job ispolitics， too， and we don’t want him to lose it. I play thedrum. They can’t get along without me in this institution.
I was sick once， so I know. It’s a wonder the drooling warddidn’t break down while I was in hospital.
I could get out of here if I wanted to. I’m not so feebleas some might think. But I don’t let on. I have too good atime. Besides， everything would run down if I went away.
I’m afraid some time they’ll find out I’m not a feeb andsend me out into the world to earn my own living. I knowthe world， and I don’t like it. The Home is fine enough forme.
You see how I grin sometimes. I can’t help that. But Ican put it on a lot. I’m not bad， though. I look at myselfin the glass. My mouth is funny， I know that， and it lopsdown， and my teeth are bad. You can tell a feeb anywhereby looking at his mouth and teeth. But that doesn’t proveI’m a feeb. It’s just because I’m lucky that I look like one.
I know a lot. If I told you all I know， you’d be surprised.
But when I don’t want to know， or when they want meto do something I don’t want to do， I just let my mouthlop down and laugh and make foolish noises. I watch thefoolish noises made by the low-grades， and I can foolanybody. And I know a lot of foolish noises. Miss Kelseycalled me a fool the other day. She was very angry， and thatwas where I fooled her.
Miss Kelsey asked me once why I don’t write a bookabout feebs. I was telling her what was the matter withlittle Albert. He’s a drooler， you know， and I can alwaystell the way he twists his left eye what’s the matter withhim. So I was explaining it to Miss Kelsey， and， becauseshe didn’t know， it made her mad. But some day， mebbe，I’ll write that book. Only it’s so much trouble. Besides， I’dsooner talk.
