It's even worse in "My Ishmael." I lost all respect for Mr. Quinn when, in that book, he portrayed the first agriculturalists as moustache-twirling cartoon villains. "Let's *make* them work for their food," he all but writes. You can practically hear the malice dripping from that voice. Over time, though, I've decided that the first agriculturalists must have thought: "Okay, that's it. I'm tired of scrabbling in the dirt for a few dried yams and berries, and I'm sick of constantly watching my back for some animal who's trying to kill me. Why don't we band together and do something for a change? We'll have to work for our food, but this is the only way to make sure anything gets done."