“Sure,” murmured Dick, while the rest laughed. “And—and how about the rest of it, sir?”
“A sheet is a rope that hoists a sail, as you doubtless know,” explained the doctor. “As for the fingers and rings, why, the masts are the fingers, and the rings are the wooden rings that the sails are attached to. There you are, sir.”
“To think of you making that up yourself!” sighed Harry. “You did make it up yourself, papa?”
“Yes, it’s quite home-made,” was the reply. “Suppose the rest of you try it.”
“I couldn’t make mine rhyme,” said Harry. “I never could make things rhyme.”
“I will make up the first one,” said Chub. “Are you all ready?” They told him they were, and Chub cleared his throat portentously.
“Well—er—why am I like a young pig with a pink nose?”
“There’s so many reasons,” said Dick, “but, to keep you in good humor, I speak for all when I say we give it up.”
“Because I’m always Eaton: see? Eaton—eating!”
“What’s the pink nose got to do with it?” asked Roy.