“A wild goose!” cried Bruce, who had reached him by that time. “A tame one you mean.”
“No it isn’t, either. How can it be a tame one? It’s a wild one.”
“No, Bart,” said Arthur, “it’s a tame goose—as tame as I am.”
“You’re a tame goose yourself,” said Bart. “Do you call that a tame goose? Why, it’s a wild one, of course. Look at its wings.”
“What about its wings? They’re tame enough. No, Bart, it’s the real original domestic goose of the civilized farm-yard.”
“Nonsense! as though I don’t know a tame goose when I see one.”
“Well, you see one now.”
“No, I don’t.”
“This is one.”
“No.”