"Oh!" Vance said, seating himself on a stone and putting down his box beside him. "You make beds of it, do you? They must be very soft."
"Dandelion?" repeated the Prince. "That doesn't mean anything."
The man nodded his head in a knowing way, but said nothing. He was a strange-looking individual, with clothing which was made of all sorts of odds and ends pieced together; while so lean and wizened was he that it made the Prince hungry only to look at him.
"Do you mean that dandelion down makes better beds?" asked Vance, whose wits were being sharpened by his travels.
The other nodded.
"Then why in the world couldn't you say so? You are not dumb."
"Breath," returned the little thin man, briefly.