"Pretty badly, I don't thank you. But come, you must hear me sing; this song was discomposed by the whistling Buoy, set to music by Sand Bars, and dedicated to me," and balancing himself on a large wave, the eel began to sing in a sad voice.
THE SONG OF THE NE'ER DO EEL.
The Ne'er Do Eel raised his dreamy eye
And said, with a ponderous, weary sigh,
I'd really, yes, really try to try,
But I'm tired to-day—let's go and lie
In the cool sweet shade of an apple pie,
And think of the which and what and why.
Oh! why is the whatness of which and when;
If then were now what would be then?
Because and but—oh! what's the use.
"To-morrow will do," is my excuse.
"How's that?" said Ne'er Do Eel when he had finished.
"Very pretty," said Billy, "but is it—is it very sensible?"
"I really don't know—nobody ever understands it, so of course it must be very fine."
"I suppose so," said Billy, wondering if Ne'er Do Eel was quite in his right mind.
"Come in, the water's fine," called a funny, bristly little fellow popping his head up beside Ne'er Do Eel.
"No, thank you," said Billy, not wishing to join company with such a prickly looking individual.
"Aw! come on—see, it's only so deep," and he held up one hand.