"You speak English very well, Pumpernickel," said I; "but what you should have said was 'string-piece' and 'dangle,' not 'twine-piece' and 'dingle.'"
"But," he protested, "is not a piece of twine a piece of string?"
"Yes," I replied; "but—"
"Then why may not a 'twine-piece' be a 'string-piece'? And as for 'dingle,' is it not the present tense of the verb 'to dingle'? Dingle, dangle, dungle—like sing, sang, sung? You would not say 'letting him sang'—it would be 'letting him sing'; wherefore, why not say 'letting my legs dingle over,' and avoid saying 'letting my legs dangle over'?"
"Oh, well, have it your own way," said I; and, having reached the end of the wharf, we sat down there, and shortly found our legs "dingling" over the water in the most approved style.
"It is a hard sort of a seat," said I, after a moment or two of silence, as we gazed upon the river flowing by.
"True," said Hans, philosophically, "though it is not made of hard wood. Let us take a boat and have a row."
I agreed, and we hired a small skiff and paddled idly down the stream. We had not gone far when the bow of our craft bumped up against something which scraped against the side of the boat as we passed.
"What was that?" said Pumpernickel.
"I don't know," said I, indifferently. "Nothing, I guess."