"I like carrots more'n cabbage! Is that philoserphy?" asked Philip, in some slight fear of his intellectual patron.
"There's a lot more in it, too!" replied Harry somewhat uneasily, disregarding his friend's levity. "In the spring a young man comes out all spots and goes and gets married! There!"
"Humph! I s'pose there's lots of philoserphies and things in Tennyson!" agreed Philip, not wholly convinced. "But I like poetry because it's ... because it's got ... Oh, I don't know what to say! You know!"
"Well anyhow, I know why I like poetry!" Harry insisted.
"You know the song we're singing in school? It goes:
Come unto these yellow sands,
And then take hands.
Curtsey'd when you have and kissed,
The wild waves whist!
"Now when they're all singing it, I hate singing it. It all gets lost in twiddly-bits. I just say it, slowly, and not listening to the class. See how it goes, like kids dancing at Mother-Ice-cream's organ,
Come unto these yellow sands!
and then you all sort of stop a minute and go slowly, like drilling, only beautifuller.
And then take hands!