"Mathew, where's the lamb chop?" whispered Helene.
"Lamb chops, you mean," sang Mathew; "you, me, Wendy, and John can't all swallow one lamb chop."
"And Mark, he also desires lamb chops," said Wendy.
"Now wait," sang Mathew; "let's struggle to understand where spooky old Mark is."
"Mark said that he was rambling over to eat with us," cried Helene; "he's sashaying up some turnpike right now."
"Mark, oh, Mark, skip briskly; it would facilitate us to start bolting our lamb chops speedily," chanted John carefully.
Meanwhile Mark winged in, whispering, "A supper, a breakfast, a repast, quick; it can be tasty or well cooked or delicious; I don't care; I'm hungrily famished. I've sauntered some clean streets; I was thinking about yachts, the sea, and the ocean; I'm exhausted."
"Yachts?" each of them said.
"Yes, yachts, a hoard of yachts floating on the sea. This yacht pondering let me be unwound during my skip over here."
"Better yachts in the sea than a sickening electron in a revolting galaxy," hummed Helene.
***
"Obscurely cried," said Wendy. "The lamb chops are served. Let's eat them, drink some champagne." She wanted to being bolting and drinking instantly, as did Helene. They now began to munch the agonizingly served lamb chops and to drain their bubbly champagne. They hastily would now get set for their powwow.
Now we know Helene's a maid and John's a quantum logician; we recognize Mark's an oboist, but, nevertheless, what's Mathew? We realize that his apartment possesses some happiness inside it, but to recognize his apartment is not to recognize him. Is he fascinating, arrogant, spooky? Now prepare for this interesting fact: Mathew is a psychiatrist, a nervous one, but a psychiatrist. Why nervous? Well, he thinks that Helene and John may start forthwith to wound or slap each other, perhaps kill each other while eating breakfast; he knows that Mark isn't helping things. The matter was terrifying. The matter was abstractedly loony; it was crazy. Helene belittled John, and John belittled Helene. They fortunately embarrassed each other. About what? Even Wendy didn't understand. Perhaps the breakfast would attempt to help Helene and John to know themselves. Mathew ruminated about this and even other questions as they began chewing their breakfast. All swallowed ravenously. Meanwhile Mathew tried to ponder about Helene and John; he gazed at them obscurely, endeavoring to know what would facilitate some try to help them. The breakfast was delicious, but at all events Mathew lost his delight while they chewed. He began directing his own pondering coldly toward Wendy and Mark. Could Wendy assist him? Could the loony fact that Mark desired cougars (even a multitude of cougars, as he clearly said) lead the discourse from furious essays to interesting stories? The matter was revolting, and Mathew was both tired and infuriated.
Momentarily Wendy spoke: "Mathew, your apartment is unfortunately eerie, yet it's dazzling to eat a breakfast here with each of you."
"Why eerie?" said Helene, "I don't think that Mathew's apartment is eerie."
"My pleated jacket was whispered of by Mark and me," said John. "It's not a matter for you to cogitate about; nevertheless, the dream of an eerie, pleated jacket directs my brain from our breakfast and from Marks' cougars instantly down to my electrons and galaxies."
Helene, Wendy, Mathew, and Mark looked at John carefully. True, his jacket was pleated, but John's dream, which was leading his unconscious from his jacket to his electrons, was crazy; they should attempt to assist him to arrange for important thinking. They commenced immediately to dream about John. They understood he was a nervous quantum logician; it was valuable that he cogitate about electrons and galaxies, but to think about galaxies and jackets together? This is peculiar. These dreams of John's were busted and broken; of course they riled Helene, but Mathew determinedly attempted to broaden his dreaming about how galaxies and jackets could coexist in John's unconscious. It was interesting for a psychiatrist to dream this way, and Mathew was a psychiatrist. Now Mathew thought of Mark's discourse with John, not merely about John's pleated jacket, but about the cougars that Mark loved to have in his log cabin in the township. Perhaps this infuriated discourse, the screaming and shouting, enraged Helene because she adored John, even though he was aloof, even though he thought that maids like Helene couldn't know the cosmos. John and Mark spoke together, but Helene just gazed at them, she didn't hum. Mathew thought that he knew the matter. Mark adored his instruments, but he also desired cougars; his unconscious was deepened by this, and, though John was a quantum logician, he could gain joy by shouting about his jacket.
