"I'd like to return your goat, Bob, but I don't see how I can," Mr. Perry announced provokingly.
"In other words, you don't see anything startling about that fellow's last performance," Cub inferred.
"No—o, nothing startling," his father replied slowly.
"What do you make out of it, then?"
"I don't know that I make anything out of it, except a lot of nonsense."
"You think it's a joke?"
"I wouldn't call it anything but a lot of nonsense until I know more about it."
"But doesn't it make you impatient to find out what it all means?"
Cub demanded.
"No, not in the least. I got over that long ago, my son. Don't let any such habit grip you; it'll wear your nerves out, and then you won't have any lead-in to connect your antennae with your brains."
"Ha, ha, ha," laughed the man's youthful audience in chorus, even Cub appreciating the illustration.