“As I was saying, or about to say when so rudely interrupted, owing to an unfortunate habit I have of transposing the first letters of words it became Ned Tooker. You get me, I trust, gentlemen?” “We get you, Ned. It must be confusing, however, for your folks.” “It was at first. But I prevailed on the family to adopt my version and now we’re all Tookers. Of course, it _took us_ some time to get――” But he was drowned in a howl of agony. “Mr. Gaddis told us in class last year,” said Abercrombie, dropping his glasses from his nose and rescuing them, “that the pun was the lowest form of humor. I agree with him.” Ned Tooker bowed deeply. “I shall inform him of your agreement, Mr. Abercrombie. He will be glad to learn it.” “I don’t see why people are so down on puns,” said Cowles stoutly. “I’ve heard some mighty good ones.” “As far as I am concerned,” said Mr. Collins, “I think a good pun is just as funny as any other form of humor. Sometimes I conclude that persons who frown on punning――and I’m not referring to Mr. Gaddis――are incapable of doing it. The pun has its place. Dr. Holmes, if you recollect, remarks that the pun can claim the parentage of Homer. Doubtless you can all recall instances when that worthy gentleman has descended――or arisen, all according to the point of view――to paronomasia.” “I beg pardon, sir?” exclaimed Ned Tooker. Mr. Collins laughed. “Paronomasia, Tooker; that’s the scientific term for it.” “Sounds like a disease,” observed Sanford. “I’ve known cases where it amounted to that,” replied Mr. Collins. “And speaking of Oliver Wendell Holmes, the good doctor was very fond of punning, and some he perpetrated are pretty bad. In one place among his verses you’ll find the following: “‘Hard is the job to launch the dangerous pun, A _pun_-job dangerous as the Indian one.’ That seems to show a good deal of effort, and I take it that a pun should be launched on the spur of the moment. A studied pun is heavy, and a heavy joke is as bad as a heavy biscuit.” “I remember reading somewhere once,” said Cowles, “about a fellow who was challenged to find a pun for Mephistopheles. He replied that it was a hard thing for a man to do, but that he ‘May if he’s tough, Elise.’” “Wow!” exclaimed Tooker. “Did they slay him?” “History doesn’t record,” Cowles acknowledged. “Talking about names,” said Sanford, “I think one of the oddest I ever heard was Sauerpickle.” “There’s a fellow in our town named Twelvetrees,” offered Arthur Thompson. “When I was a boy,” said Mr. Collins, “my mother, I recall, used to tell of an old lady whose name was Hepzibah Gandel. That has always seemed to me about as odd a name as there is.” “There’s an old man who lives near us,” hazarded Kendall, “whose name is Meshach Fish.” “Not bad,” drawled Tooker judicially. “Reminds me of my friend Shadrach Rowe. They called him Shad Rowe for short.” “Ned, that will be about all from you,” laughed Arthur.