“What’s the matter?” asked several.
“I want to catch those birds!” the recently awakened sleeper said, rubbing his eyes. “I can put ’em in cages and sell ’em. I haven’t made any money lately, now’s my chance. Get out of my way, can’t you? I used to trap birds when I was a boy. These are fine singers.”
John had not yet caught sight of the man making his way toward him. The “Warbler” was giving an imitation of a blackbird, and he managed to send out his notes with such skill that it really sounded as if the bird was in a different part of the room from where the whistler stood. The notes appeared to come from a window in the corner.
“I can get him! Look out!” cried the man.
He made a dash for the window, and at that, John, who was now aware of what was going on, changed the whistling to the notes of a bluebird.
This time the tones were so directed as to seem to come from a window on the other side of the room, and the man turned to make a dash in that direction.
“Why, there’s two birds!” he exclaimed. “I’ll catch ’em all!”
No sooner had he reached the second window than John changed the tune to that made by a bullfinch, and the man, listening, thought the bird was in the back of the apartment. He made his way there, the crowd parting to let him through, and laughing, the meanwhile, at the deluded man’s actions.
John was concealed from view by the throng packed close about him, or the man would have discovered the trick at once. As it was he thought sure there were several birds in the room. When he got to the rear the notes of the feathered songster seemed more distinct than ever. The man climbed up on a chair to peer behind the window curtain, and, as he did so, John, whose vocal abilities were not alone limited to birds, let out a croak like a big frog.
“That’s no bird!” exclaimed the man in disgust, as the crowd broke into a laugh at him. “Am I dreaming or what’s the matter? Is this place haunted?”