At this, Fatty finally found his voice. "A discontinuity?" he gulped. "Whassat?"
"Aw, you know," Irv rebuked him. "Old Cusp's been gassing about 'em for days, now."
"Has he? Well, what is it, if you're so smart?"
"I don't remember," Irv said brazenly, "but at least I heard the name before."
"At pi-over-three," the rabbit broke in with authority, "the denominator of the integrand vanishes. To put it loosely, the function becomes infinite."
Fatty looked at Irv; Irv gaped at Fatty. The piggy eyes lit up. "A rabbit that knows math!" Fatty breathed.
"Knows it! He wrote the damn book—a real brain!" Irv exulted.
Once again their eyes met meaningly. "You always said," Irv remarked in an abstracted manner, "that you could lick the guy who invented calc."
"I sure can," Fatty asserted, "but—" He paused; then with a speed surprising in one of his bulk, his thick hands shot out, and Professor Slakmak, the eminent Venusian savant, found himself dangling by the ears from stubby, freckled fingers. He kicked with a vigor shockingly undignified.
"Let me down!" he squeaked furiously. "This is outrageous. A friendly ambassador's person is sacred among all civilized peoples; your national President shall hear of this insult!"