Onion Sauce! Onion Sauce!

There He Got Out The Luncheon-basket And Packed A Simple Meal, In Which, Remembering The Stranger's Origin And Preferences, He Took Care To Include A Yard Of Long French Bread, A Sausage Out Of Which The Garlic Sang, Some Cheese Which Lay Down And Cried, And A Long-necked Straw-covered Flask Wherein Lay Bottled Sunshine Shed And Garnered On Far Southern Slopes.

"glorious, Stirring Sight!" Murmured Toad. . . . "the Poetry Of Motion! The Real Way To Travel! The Only Way To Travel! Here Today - In Next Week Tomorrow! Villages Skipped, Towns And Cities Jumped- Always Somebody Else's Horizons! O Bliss! O Poop-poop! O My! O My!"

It Is The Restrictions Placed On Vice By Our Social Code Which Makes Its Pursuit So Peculiarly Agreeable.

It'll Be All Right, My Fine Fellow," Said The Otter. "i'm Coming Along With You, And I Know Every Path Blindfold; And If There's A Head That Needs To Be Punched, You Can Confidently Rely Upon Me To Punch It.

Onion Sauce! Onion Sauce!