"The world may be a mad place, Amadeus, but there go the peeper frogs. I told you they might, on such an afternoon."
"So they do. You don't suppose——?"
"If we continue to the pond, they'll stop. However, should we then squat patient in our boots, the thing might be done—imitating boulders, you know. We might, as it were, rock ourselves into the semblance of a natural outgrowth."
"Who now hath plumbed the depths of a contumelious paronomasia?"
"Ha!"
"That log looks more comfortable."
"If the ants on it are black, yes. If red, no."
"They look black, the few I see. Is there a difference?"
"Oh, my friend! How did you survive till I came to you?"
"Don't know."