“Tell us all about it, little one,” begs Muley, resting his fat chin on his hands, and squinting at Telescope.
“Sing us a song of a locoed man,
Who got stuck on your face and shape—
A form that was built by accident,
And the face of a Jungle ape.
Sing us a song of a keeper bold,
Who went sound asleep one day,
A keeper who’s going to show up soon,
And lead little Archie away.”
“I’ll tell yuh nothing!” yelps Telescope. “You fellers are just plumb ignorant.”