Mogey was in the market for a new pipe, and so he and Smush packed a burlap sack full of peanut butter, fluff, and bacon sangwiches and headed into town. Spotting a respectable looking establishment called Corncob Robert's House o' Pipes, the two pals stepped inside to see what they could see.
"Good afternoon!" bellowed the bearded, bespectacled, bulbous proprieter when they entered.
"Hello there, old bean," Smush replied. "Be you Corncob Robert?"
"That I am," he answered. "But please, call me Cob Bob - everyone does. What can I do for you fine sirs?"
"Sheesh, Cob Bob," Mogey said, breaking into a fit of giggles. "My old pipe has worn out and I'm in dire need of a new one." At least, that's what Mogey had been telling everyone. In actual fact, Mogey had never smoked a pipe in his life and didn't, technically speaking, know which end of a pipe went in one's mouth. But he thought being a pipe smoker sounded awfully sophisticated to the ladies.
"Well as you can see, we've got a fine selection here," Cob Bob explained. "What sort of pipe are you looking for?"
"How much are these Southington numbers on the top shelf?" Smush asked.
"Five pieces of silver," Cob Bob replied. "Or, if you prefer, one medium-to-large laying hen and a book of brainteasers."
"Sheesh, Cob Bob," Mogey said, laughing even harder this time. "That's a pretty steep price. What else have you got?"
"The clay pipes are quite nice," said Cob Bob, looking a bit put off. "They'll only run you two pieces of silver or an exceptionally creepy jack-in-the-box."
"Sheesh--," Mogey began, but Cob Bob had grabbed him by the shirt collar and hauled him up onto the counter.
"If you say Sheesh Cob Bob one more time," Cob Bob growled, "I swear on the life of my pet penguin's unborn child that I will not sell you a pipe today, nor until the end of time."
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