"I don't know," 'Bias confessed again. "I wish somebody'd find out: but they tell me it can't be trusted with ladies."
"Is that why you're takin' it for a walk? . . . Well, I'll risk five bob, if it's goin' cheap."
Mr Philp's face fell. "I'd ha' gone half-a-crown, myself," he murmured resignedly; "but I can't bid up against a rich man like Mr Rogers. . . . You don't know what the creetur says?"
"No more'n Adam—only that it's too shockin' for human ears. If Mr Rogers cares to take the bird for five shillin', he's welcome, and good riddance. Only he won't never find out what's wrong with him."
"Honest?" asked Mr Rogers.
"Honest. I've lived alongside this bird seven years; he was bought off a missionary; and I don't know."
"Ah, well!" sighed Mr Philp. "Money can't buy everything. But I don't mind bettin' I'd ha' found out."
"Would ye now?" queried Mr Rogers with a wicked chuckle. "I'll put up a match, then. The bird's mine for five shillin': but Philp shall have him for a month, and I'll bet Philp half-a-crown he don't discover what you've missed. Done, is it?"
"Done.'" echoed Mr Philp, appealing to 'Bias and reaching out a hand for the cage.
"Done!" echoed 'Bias. "Five shillin' suits me at any time, and I'm glad to be rid o' the brute."