the living member—that makes the living insult, my little man. and thinks i to myself all the while, mind, while i was stubbing my silly toes against that cursed pyramid—so confoundedly contradictory was it all, all the while, i say, i was thinking to myself, ‘what’s his leg now, but a cane—a whalebone cane. yes,’ thinks i, ‘it was only a playful cudgelling—in fact, only a whaleboning that he gave me—not a base kick. besides,’ thinks i, ‘look at it once; why, the end of it—the foot part—what a small sort of end it is; whereas, if a broad footed farmer kicked me, there’s a devilish broad insult. but this insult is whittled down to a point only.’ but now comes the greatest joke of the dream, flask. while i was battering away at the pyramid, a sort of badger-haired old merman, with a hump on his back, takes me by the shoulders, and slews me round. ‘what are you ’bout?’ says he. slid!