"Well, we won't say it's Funny-Dog, anyhow," conceded Boodle, and the matter dropped.
Daddy laughed consumedly at Buster's discomfiture. (He was held to have the right Tosh touch, and Boodle declared that he never lapsed into Funny-Dog, but she may have been partial and biassed in her judgment, for she loved Daddy "mos' tremenjous". Was he not so wise and clever and understanding that he was fit to take part in their games and able to enter into their imaginings and occasions, lawful and unlawful? So great and able a mind had he that he knew the utter unimportance of Grown-up things—like time, money, dignity, and silence, or being late for dinner-parties, must-go-to-office-now, mind-my-hair-and-clothes, not-quite-so-much-noise, and musn't-play-with-that. He was that sensible you would have thought he was a child, but for his size and his grey hair. In fact he was nearly as valuable, brilliant, and child-like as Mummy herself.)
When the Club held its Literary meetings, Daddy was expected to provide either Tosh or a Stirring Tale (plenty of good sound robbers, wolves, Red Indians, and things), but Mummy
