Chauncey, Phillip and Bob
Somewhere else, in a patch of woods on the frontier of a land named Ypsilanti by some...
"It's the classic argument, old friend," a thickly-accented voice said from the underbrush. "At least, that's precisely how I see it... I fear society just doesn't allow us to progress beyond the limits of our caste and rank."
"Exactly! Yes!" said a voice with a touch of falsetto. "You have it exactly! It's as if to say we're guided by fate to be what we are. We can't help that."
There was a thoughtful pause.
"I say, Phillip," the first said slowly, awed by a sudden insight. "You do realize, when you put it like that, it almost sounds as though... it is to say... that we're somehow... embracing our own destiny."
"Again, exactly!" The second said, excitedly. "Oh, you have such a way of cutting through the clutter, Chauncey! We have taken this step, if one can indeed