Rick Ames sat stolidly behind his desk. He was stolid. He was also faced with several insurmountable problems. These were hung on the wall opposite, encased in silver frames -- but he scarcely glanced at them anymore. When he did, he would usually grimace and scoff, ``Youth! Huh! Goes to show ya!''
What bothered Rick was this: He was becoming increasingly concerned with little mistakes people made. For instance, someone had said, ``Everything is coming up roses.''
Rick said it wasn't at all.
He hadn't seen any roses, he said.
There were none left, it would seem.
Someone took them all as soon as they came up.