As Wongo walked on in silence, not even deigning to glance in Kaw’s direction, the latter continued still more teasingly:
“They say he can scratch, and they say he can hug,
And his skin, so ’tis said, makes a beautiful rug.
His growl and his strength and his looks are his pride,
Yet none of these things are worth half of his hide.
Hug a bear rug,
A bug in a jug;
His skin, so ’tis said, makes a beautiful rug.”
“That’s enough of your poor rhyming wit,” said Wongo, sitting down beside the trail. “That last string of words is too personal, and besides, your remarks about the rug make me nervous.”
“Oh! Ho! Little bear, you must be on a nervous errand to-night, eh? By-the-by, I see that you are not headed toward home, and it nears the hour when all honest folk should be on their roosts.”