‘Flies through the air without wings,
Swims through the sea without fins,
Has nails but no toes,
Sheets but no clothes,
On each of its fingers wears rings.’”
“Why, it’s poetry!” declared Harry.
“Well, I don’t claim much for the rhymes,” answered the doctor, modestly. “Got it, Chub?”
“Er—well, you see, sir, being in rhyme makes it more difficult.”
The others jeered.
“Of course I don’t mean that I can’t guess it, only that it requires more effort. Now let me see: ‘Flies through the air without wings;’ that’s a balloon. ‘Swims through the sea without fins;’ that’s—that’s an eel. Er—what was the rest, doctor?”
“‘Has nails but no toes,
Sheets but no clothes,
On each of its fingers wears rings.’”
replied the doctor.
Chub was silent a moment. Then, “I—I think it’s an ichthyosaurus,” he said.
“You’ll have to guess again,” laughed the doctor. “How about you, Dick?”
