gress. They progressed by leaps and bounds of course. . . ."
"What became of them in the very end," pursued the Vice, tenacious ever, as Buster stopped.
"Oh, they sat under the famous Omelette Tree of Gotham and egged each other on, and poached. They also boiled—with indignation."
"Poached what? Boiled what?"
"Eggs. They scrambled up the"
"Funny-Dog! " said the Vice suddenly, and Buster collapsed. (Later the President told the Vice that he had been severe and premature—and in the presence of the President—a little presumptuous. He would have had a perfect right to make any comment had he been in the Chair. Privately the President entirely agreed with the Vice. The story should have stopped short of egg-puns. They are so banal, though banal is not the word the President used. In fact she used no word at all, but merely felt that egg-puns are distinctly of the Funny-Dog tribe and required a lot of elevating into Tosh.)
"It was distinct Tosh until you fell among eggs. Buster," said Daddy.
