"Possibly you're right," he said reluctantly.
Another bird said "Chiff-chaff" from another tree and I thought it wise to be generous. "There," I said, "now that was a Chiff-chaff."
The earnest-looking girl remarked (silly creature) that it sounded just like the other one, but nobody took any notice of her. They were all busy admiring me.
Of course I mustn't meet the Authority again, because you may be pretty sure that when he got back to his books he looked up Blackman's Warbler and found that there was no such animal. But if you mix in the right society, and only see the wrong people once, it is really quite easy to be an authority on birds—or, I imagine, on anything else.
THE LAST STRAW
It was one of those summer evenings with the chill on, so after dinner we lit the smoking-room fire and wondered what to do. There were eight of us; just the right number for two bridge tables, or four picquet pairs, or eight patience singles.
"Oh, no, not cards," said Celia quickly. "They're so dull."
"Not when you get a grand slam," said our host, thinking of an accident which had happened to him the night before.
"Even then I don't suppose anybody laughed."
Peter and I, who were partners on that occasion, admitted that we hadn't laughed.