But Fudge was unsuspicious, and presently he found himself walking home with the pair.
"Say, this is certainly peachy weather, isn't it?" inquired Will as they turned into B Street. "Aren't you crazy about spring, Way?"
"Am I? Well, rather! O beauteous spring!"
"So am I. You know it makes the birds sing in the trees."
"Sure. And it makes the April breeze to blow."
"What's wrong with you chaps?" asked Fudge perplexedly. The strange words struck him as dimly familiar but he didn't yet connect them with their source.
"Fudge," replied Way sadly, "I fear you have no poetry in your soul. Doesn't the spring awaken—er—awaken feelings in your breast? Don't you feel the—the appeal of the sunshine and the singing birds and all that?"
"You're batty," said Fudge disgustedly.
"Now for my part," said Will Scott, "spring art, I ween, the best of all the seasons."
"Now you're saying something," declared Way enthusiastically. "It clothes the earth with green"
"And for numerous other reasons," added Will gravely.
A great light broke on Fudge and his rotund
47
