``If you are trying to get us out of the brothel, the dustbin, the kitchen sink, and the tawdry living-room, you are probably wasting your time,'' Moreland told me. ``Too many of our writers seem to be interested only in creatures that crawl out of the woodwork or from under the rock.''

``Furiouser and furiouser,'' I said. ``I am worried about the current meanings of the word 'funny'. It now means ominous, as when one speaks of a funny sound in the motor; disturbing, as when one says that a friend is acting funny; and frightening, as when a wife tells the police that it is funny, but her husband hasn't been home for two days and nights.''

Moreland sat brooding for a full minute, during which I made each of us a new drink. He took his glass, clinked it against mine, and said, ``Toujours gai, what the hell!'' borrowing a line from Don Marquis' Mehitabel.

``Be careful of the word 'gay', for it, too, has undergone a change. It now means, in my country, homosexual,'' I said. ``Oh, I forgot to say that if one is taken to the funny house in the funny wagon, he is removed to a mental institution in an ambulance. Recently, by the way, I received a questionnaire in which I was asked whether or not I was non institutionalized.''

My host went over and stared out the window at his peacocks; then he turned to me. ``Is it true that you believe the other animals are saner than the human species?''