“Do you think you could put that boot back on?" he added mildly. "The window can only let in a limited ammount of fresh air and your socks are a tough ripe, to put it mildly."Oh, sorry!" said Horace, tugging the riding boot back on over his sock. Now that Halt mentioned it, he was aware of a rather strong odor in the room.”

“She spoke under her breath to Nick. "Is there a reason he's only wearing one sock?" "He puked on his foot." "Oh." She turned back to Huxley. "Can we get you another sock? Maybe a blanket or something?”

“Granny always said finding justice was as tough as putting socks on a rooster.”

“On the black earth on which the ice plants bloomed, hundreds of black stink bugs crawled. And many of them stuck their tails up in the air. "Look at all them stink bugs," Hazel remarked, grateful to the bugs for being there. "They're interesting," said Doc. "Well, what they got their asses up in the air for?" Doc rolled up his wool socks and put them in the rubber boots and from his pocket he brought out dry socks and a pair of thin moccasins. "I don't know why," he said. "I looked them up recently--they're very common animals and one of the commonest things they do is put their tails up in the air. And in all the books there isn't one mention of the fact that they put their tails up in the air or why." Hazel turned one of the stink bugs over with the toe of his wet tennis shoe and the shining black beetle strove madly with floundering legs to get upright again. "Well, why do you think they do it?" "I think they're praying," said Doc. "What!" Hazel was shocked. "The remarkable thing," said Doc, "isn't that they put their tails up in the air--the really incredibly remarkable thing is that we find it remarkable. We can only use ourselves as yardsticks. If we did something as inexplicable and strange we'd probably be praying--so maybe they're praying." "Let's get the hell out of here," said Hazel.”

“Sirrah, my companion chooses to engage you in knightly combat!" Halt said. The horseman stiffened, sitting upright in his saddle. Halt noticed that he nearly lost his balance at this unexpected piece of news.Nightly cermbat?" he replied, "Yewer cermpenion ers no knight!"Halt nodded hugely, making sure the man could see the gesture.Oh yes he is!" he called back. "He is Sir Horace of the Order of the Feuille du Chene." He paused and muttered to himself, "Or should that have been Crepe du Chene? Never mind."What did you tell him?" Horace asked, slinging his buckler around from where it hung at his back and setting it on his left arm.I said you were Sir Horace of the Order of the Oakleaf." Halt said to him, then added uncertainly, "At least, I think that's what I told him. I may have said you were of the Order of the Oak Pancake.”

“Do you think you could persuade that horse of yours to stay with the other horses for a minute or two?” he said with a mock severity. “Otherwise he’ll wind up believing he’s one of us.”He’s been driving Halt crazy since we found your tracks,” Horace put in. “He must have picked up your scent and known it was you we were following, although Halt didn’t realize it.”At that, Halt raised an eyebrow. “Halt didn’t realize it?” he repeated. “And I suppose you did?”Horace shrugged. “I’m just a warrior,” he replied. “I’m not supposed to be the thinker. I leave that to you Rangers.”