Chantecler
He is not altogether to blame. He wears the modern garb. See him there in correct evening dress. He looks, in his neat black coat—
Patou Like a beastly little undertaker who, after burying Faith, hops with relief and glee!
Chantecler
There, there! You make him blacker than he is!
Patou
I do believe a blackbird is just a misfit crow!
Chantecler
His diminutive size, however—
Patou
[Vigorously shaking his ears.] Oh, be not deceived by his size! Evil makes his models first on a tiny scale. The soul of a cutlass dwells in the pocket-knife; blackbird and crow are of the selfsame crape, and the striped wasp is a tiger in miniature!
Chantecler
[Amused at Patou’s violence.] The blackbird in short is wicked, stupid, ugly—
Patou
The chief thing about the Blackbird is—that you can’t tell what he is! Is there thought in that head? feeling in that breast? Hear him! “Tew-tew-tew-tew tew—”
Chantecler
But what harm does he do?
Patou
He tew-tew-tews! And nothing is so mortal to thought and sentiment as that same derisive tew-tewing, disingenuous and non-committal! Day by day, and that is why I roll my rs, I must witness this debasing of language and ideals. It’s enough to produce rabies!