"Who is that long haired, greasy gentleman writing on his cuff?" asked Billy.
"You must meet him. He is our village near poet," answered the star-gazer, impressively. "Allow me, Mr. Never Print, to introduce my latest discovery, Billy Bounce, a near meteor."
Mr. Never Print stopped writing, and after rolling his eyes and carefully disarranging his hair, said: "How beautiful a thing is a fried oyster! Have you read my latest near book?"
"No, sir," said Billy.
"Ah! such is near fame," said the poet, untying his cravat. "Art is long, but a toothless dog does not bite."
"Sir," said Billy, "I didn't quite catch your meaning?"
The Near Poet.
"The near meaning, you mean; like all great near poets, my meaning is hidden. Perhaps you will understand this better: The little flower, like a beefsteak, reminds us that a gentle answer comes home to roost."