"What possessed the 'Outs' to run him? You just don't go running a little short man like that against a tall man. Besides--he mumbled. Half the time I couldn't hear a word he said. And the words I did hear I didn't understand!"
"Fat, too, and didn't dress to hide it. No wonder the landslide was for Winston Noble. Even their names helped. Compare Winston Noble to Hubert Hoag for ten seconds and you can almost figure the results."
"Damn it!" cried Montag. "What do you know about Hoag and Noble!"
"Why, they were right in that parlor wall, not six months ago. One was always picking his nose; it drove me wild."
"Well, Mr. Montag," said Mrs. Phelps, "do you want us to vote for a man like that?"
Mildred beamed. "You just run away from the door, Guy, and don't make us nervous."
But Montag was gone and back in a moment with a book in his hand.
"Guy!"
"Damn it all, damn it all, damn it!"
"What've you got there; isn't that a book? I thought that all special training these days was done by film." Mrs. Phelps blinked. "You reading up on fireman theory?"
"Theory, hell," said Montag. "It's poetry."
"Montag." A whisper.
"Leave me alone!" Montag felt himself turning in a great circling roar and buzz and hum.
"Montag, hold on, don't . . ."
"Did you hear them, did you hear these monsters talking about monsters? Oh God, the way they jabber about people and their own children and themselves and the way they talk about their husbands and the way they talk about war, dammit, I stand here and I can't believe it!"
"I didn't say a single word about any war, I'll have you know," said Mrs. Phelps.
"As for poetry, I hate it," said Mrs. Bowles.
"Have you ever heard any?"
"Montag," Faber's voice scraped away at him. "You'll ruin everything. Shut up, you fool!"
All three women were on their feet.
"Sit down!"
They sat.
"I'm going home," quavered Mrs. Bowles.
"Montag, Montag, please, in the name of God, what're you up to?" pleaded Faber.
"Why don't you just read us one of those poems from your little book." Mrs. Phelps nodded. "I think that'd be very interesting."
"That's not right," wailed Mrs. Bowles. "We can't do that!"
"Well, look at Mr. Montag, he wants to, I know he does. And if we listen nice, Mr. Montag will be happy and then maybe we can go on and do something else." She glanced nervously at the long emptiness of the walls enclosing them.
"Montag, go through with this and I'll cut off, I'll leave." The beetle jabbed his ear. "What good is this, what'll you prove!"
"Scare hell out of them, that's what, scare the living daylights out!"
Mildred looked at the empty air. "Now, Guy, just who are you talking to?"