So speaking, he executed a smile a hand's-breath in extent, and
resumed his airy dream of dropping ducats.




CXXI.


For many years an opossum had anointed his tail with bear's oil, but
it remained stubbornly bald-headed. At last his patience was
exhausted, and he appealed to Bruin himself, accusing him of breaking
faith, and calling him a quack.

"Why, you insolent marsupial!" retorted the bear in a rage; "you
expect my oil to give you hair upon your tail, when it will not give
me even a tail. Why don't you try under-draining, or top-dressing with
light compost?"

They said and did a good deal more before the opossum withdrew his
cold and barren member from consideration; but the judicious fabulist
does not encumber his tale with extraneous matter, lest it be
pointless.




CXXII.