"He and you must have taught 'em," joked Cat, as the clown's legs sprang back to the perpendicular. "But, say, don't forget about whales when you are talking about big game. They tell me some little ones have been washed up on the beach down this far."
"Some winters they seem to get the wanderlust," drawled Turner. "One was washed up at Virginia Beach a couple of years ago, and I believe that wasn't the first they'd found."
Suddenly an idea, a bright one, occurred to Jimmy.
"Don't reckon they laid any eggs around here, do you? A whale's egg must be a whopper."
The Tarheel's face spread and he broke into a low cackle. Cat caught the cue on the instant.
"Don't you know, bonehead, that whales don't lay eggs," he struck in, looking wondrous wise.
"They don't!" exclaimed Jimmy, only half induced to believe the fact.
"They produce snarks," mildly observed Turner, breaking into a full-sized grin.
"I'll say, Jimmy," hooted Cat, "you just pulled a whale bone."
