“'Member any of it?” asked Billy.
“There was one I wrote about a lake where I camped once,” said Bridge, reminiscently; “but I can only recall one stanza.”
“Let's have it,” urged Billy. “I bet it has Knibbs hangin' to the ropes.”
Bridge cleared his throat, and recited:
Silver are the ripples,
Solemn are the dunes,
Happy are the fishes,
For they are full of prunes.
He looked up at Billy, a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. “How's that?” he asked.
Billy scratched his head.
“It's all right but the last line,” said Billy, candidly. “There is something wrong with that last line.”
“Yes,” agreed Bridge, “there is.”
“I guess Knibbs is safe for another round at least,” said Billy.