"You said it, Carl," Hugh chimed in, "but I like 'Sea Fever' better.
"I must go down to the seas again,
To the lonely sea and the sky....
Gosh! that's hot stuff. 'August, 1914' 's a peach, too."
"Yeah," agreed Larry languidly; "I got a great kick when the prof read that in class. Masefield's all right. I wish we had more of his stuff and less of Milton. Lord Almighty, how I hate Milton! What th' hell do they have to give us that tripe for?"
"Oh, let's get going," Freddy pleaded, running a nervous hand through his mouse-colored hair. "Shoot a question, Pudge."
"All right, Freddy." Pudge tried to smile wickedly but succeeded only in looking like a beaming cherub. "Tell us who wrote the 'Ode on Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood.' Cripes! what a title!"
Freddy groaned. "I know that Wadsworth wrote it, but that is all that I do know about it."
"Wordsworth, Freddy," Carl corrected him. "Wordsworth. Henry W. Wordsworth."
"Gee, Carl, thanks. I thought it was William."