One afternoon Smush came barreling through the front door, slamming it behind him and startling Mogey, who'd been busy making a broccoli bake, minus the broccoli.
"Gadzooks, Mogey!" Smush shouted. "Hail is coming down out there as big as hens' eggs!"
Mogey looked out the window, a rapturous smile spreading across his face, and dashed outside without a word. When he returned he was whistling happily and carrying half a dozen hailstones in his apron.
"Gonna make me an ice omelet," he sang quietly, "gonna cook one up real nice. Hail the size of hen's eggs. Ice ommmmelet...ice ommmmmmmmmmmmmelet...."
Mogey stoked the fire in the pot belly stove until the frying pan on top was good and hot, singing and humming all the while. But as he tried to crack first one hailstone, then another, and another, without success, Mogey began to realize that his ice omelet dream was an impossible one.
Smush watched as his pal stood, staring at the frying pan in shock, looking as sad as a chicken whose son has just turned evil.
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