“But if you’re going to laugh at me I don’t care to recite,” said Fleet.
“Oh, go on,” said Tom. “Don’t mind me.”
He really liked to hear Fleet’s compositions, but was reluctant in telling Fleet so, fearing that Fleet, through the kindness of his heart, would overburden them with verses.
“I have composed a very touching little thing entitled, ‘A Mosquito Bite On the Arm Is Worth Two On the Nose.’”
“Sounds like a minstrel show,” said Pod.
“Maybe it is,” said Chot. “Anyway, I heard a few alleged jokes flying around loose awhile ago.”
“Yes; and there are more where those came from,” said Pod.
“Well, it’s up to Fleet now,” said Chot. “Proceed Fleetsy.”
Fleet proceeded to rattle off a half dozen verses about camping in New Jersey with mosquitoes for companions and ending with “a bite on the arm, is better than two on the nose, oh, tarm.” Then he paused.
“Well, go on; finish it,” advised Tom.