“I wish my mother had,” said Pocahontas. “Mistakes are only in the imagination,” said Raysor; “there is really no such thing as a mistake. It’s a mistake to suppose that there is.”
“Right you are, Ray,” said his friend. “The trouble with most people is they’re always wanting to go to some particular place. And see the trouble they get in. One place is as good as another if not better.”
“Diss it is what you call no blase,” said Vociferinski.
“Better still,” said Fuller.
“If anybody can show me a house with a roof on it and something to eat inside it—” said A. Pylor Koyn, in a grim tone of wrath and despair.
He never finished uttering this altogether liberal offer to the world. For out of the depths of the fog arose a voice like a siren calling out of the tempestuous ocean.
“I know a house with a roof on it and it’s got lots of food inside of it and you can have a dipper of milk whenever you want it and they’re going to kill a pig next week and they always have ice cream on Sundays, because I turn the freezer and they always have two helpings of dessert!”
“Hark,” said Fuller Bullson, “methinks I hear you calling me.”
“It’s a wagon!” said Miss Pocahontas Gamer. “Look!”
“It’s got a roof because I can prove it, because here’s a shingle, and we’ll take you right there!” thundered the voice. “This isn’t Snailsdale Manor, it isn’t any station at all, but anyway this wagon goes to Goodale Manor Farm and it’s a kind of a station and a bus all kind of rolled into one and maybe even a station that isn’t a station is better than one that is. All aboard for Goodale Manor Farm! You get fresh eggs and milk and two desserts and a roof too! All aboard for Goodale Manor Farm!”