He killed him with his fists. And Crooked Nose, he sent his ghost to sea To catch his slayer by the foot! The ghost of Crooked Nose will drown his slayer, Drown, drown, drown his slayer, The ghost of Crooked Nose will drown his slayer, Drown his slayer in the seal” “You are a liar, Big Mouth!” spluttered Probably Arboreal, hopping on one foot and thrashing the water with his arms. “It is not a ghost; it is an animal.” But the chant kept up, growing louder and louder: “The ghost of Crooked Nose will drown his slayer! Drown, drown, drown his slayer, Drown his slayer in the sea!” Out of the woods came running more and more people at the noise of the chant. And as they caught what was going on, they took up the burden of it, until hundreds and thousands of them were singing it. But, with a mighty turn and struggle, Probably Arboreal went under again, as to his head and body; his feet for an instant swished into the air, and everyone but Probably Arboreal himself saw what was hanging on to one of them. It was neither ghost, shark, god, nor devil. It was a monstrous oyster; a bull oyster, evidently. All oysters were much larger in those days than they are now, but this oyster was a giant, a mastodon, a mammoth among oysters, even for those days. “It is an oyster, an oyster, an oyster!” cried the crowd, as Probably Arboreal's head and shoulders came out of the water again. Big Mouth, the poet, naturally chagrined, and hating to yield up his dramatic idea, tried to raise another chant: “The ghost of Crooked Nose went into an oyster, The oyster caught his slayer by the foot To drown, drown, drown him in the sea!” But it didn't work. The world had seen that oyster, and had recognized it for an oyster. “Oyster! Oyster! Oyster!” cried the crowd sternly at Big Mouth. The bard tried to persevere, but Slightly Simian, feeling the crowd with him, advanced menacingly and said: “See here, Big Mouth, we know a ghost when we see one, and we know an oyster! Yon animal is an oyster! You _sing_ that it is an oyster, or shut up!” “_Ghost, ghost, ghost,_” chanted Big Mouth, tentatively. But he got no farther. Slightly Simian killed him with a club, and the matter was settled. Literary criticism was direct, straightforward, and effective in those days. “But, oh, ye gods of the water, _what_ an oyster!” cried Mrs. Slightly Simian.