“Well,” he went on; “we knocked at this blue door, and by and by we heard a man say ‘come in,’ and we went in and there was Jerry. He sat there smoking a pipe made out of a corn cob, and mending a hole in his boot with a piece of string. There were ever so many funny things there, fish-poles and box-traps and snares—”
“What’s that?” interposed Gyp.
“Oh, things to catch birds in,” explained Leon lucidly. Then he continued, “And there were some cages on the wall, some with birds in, and some with squirrels, and one had a snake. And there was a great black crow hopping around on the floor, and three dogs, one yellow, and one white, and one black and yellow. And—and—and—” Leon hesitated.
“What did you do then?” demanded Gyp.
“We stayed a little while, and then we came home again.”
“Is that all?” asked the child, and there was a scornful ring to her tone.
“I’m afraid it is,” replied Leon meekly.
“Well, I don’t think that’s much of a story,” remarked Gyp, with a frankness of criticism which would have done credit to a professional reviewer.
“You tell me one now, Gyp,” suggested Leon, feeling that his attempt at story-telling had resulted in dismal failure.
“Well, I will,” said Gyp, with perfect readiness.