“Not me!” cried Agnes vigorously. “You’ve got the wrong idea if you think I’d let a thing like that into my bathtub. Whew!”
“I don’t really understand, Luke,” said Ruth. “Is it an animal?”
“Partly. It swims about at first and then adheres to a rock. So then it grows into a vegetable.”
“Humph!” scoffed Agnes. “Then an oyster is both animal and vegetable, for that is what it does.”
“They are sponges, are they?” asked Mr. Howbridge. “I never chanced to see one in its natural state before.”
“Ho!” exclaimed Neale. “Me for the rubber sponges you buy in the drug stores hereafter. They are nasty, Luke.”
“Don’t blame me,” chuckled the collegian. “They don’t belong to me. And perhaps you wouldn’t care for rubber if you could see it gathered and know how it is prepared. But that, like the sponge, goes through so many processes before becoming commercially useful that we can easily forget its natural state.”
They got back in time for supper. Somewhere on the way Neale had slyly discovered some more of the leathery-shelled eggs, and he produced them triumphantly in an omelet; for Neale, after his circus experience and other adventures out-of-doors, was by no means a bad cook. They all acclaimed his skill.
“But I do want to see your flock of funny hens!” exclaimed Agnes. “You never used to have secrets from me, Neale O’Neil. It began with that Nalbro Hastings, the girl from the Back Bay. I wonder what she would do if she were here!”
“Be eaten up with sand-fleas—as we are,” murmured Ruth, scratching.