“I met a spick and Spaniard once, He was so spick and span, He even had his toes curled up Believe me, if you, if you—?” “I can believe anything Mr Vere,” said Grampa grimly. “Then try this!” roared the Forgetful Poet, waving his arms. “If fifty boats and fifty crews Were gathered in a group, Why wouldn’t it be proper, Sir, To call the crews a croup? Admit, old dear, that this is clear— As clear, as clear as—” “Soup!” groaned Grampa in spite of himself. “Vegetable soup,” he added bitterly and, reaching in his pocket, jerked out the wizard’s medicine. “What are you doing?” asked Percy curiously, as he ran his finger hurriedly down the green label. “Looking for a cure,” said the old soldier, raising his eyebrows significantly. But there was no cure for forgetful poetry on the green label, so with a sigh Grampa returned the bottle to his pocket. “What can’t be cured must be endured,” said the old soldier glumly and, pursing up his lips, he began to whistle a sad tune. Dorothy and Tatters exchanged amused glances and Urtha, who had been skipping beside Percy Vere, touched him on the arm. “Is the Princess of Perhaps City pretty?” asked the little flower fairy timidly. She could not bear to think of Tatters marrying an ugly Princess. “I should guess, mercy yes! I should say, April, April—?” “Trouble ahead! Trouble ahead!” crowed Bill, before anyone could finish the verse. Just then a turn in the lane brought them plump into a huge fenced-in park. The fence was much too high to climb and stretched as far on either side as they could see. “I never saw this place before,” said Dorothy, peering curiously between the bars, “but maybe if we knock on the gate someone will let us in. Then we can march through and out the other side.” “Here’s the gate,” called Percy Vere, who had run a little ways to the right, “and here’s a sign.” “Play!” announced the sign over the gate. “All work on these grounds forbidden.” Just below was a smaller sign—“No trespassing!”