“He turned back the bedclothes with his enormous beak, and was just about to hop into bed.”— [Page 42].
Wallypugland.
“Oh—h-h! Ah—h-h! There’s a man in my room!” screamed the Pelican, evidently greatly alarmed. “Murder! Fire! Police! Thieves!”
“Hold your tongue!” I commanded. “What do you mean by making all that noise at this time of night, and what are you doing in my room?”
“Your room, indeed!” gasped the bird; “my room you mean, you featherless biped, you!”
“Look here!” I remarked, going up to the Pelican, and shaking him till his beak rattled again. “Don’t you talk to me like that, my good bird, for I won’t put up with it.” You see I was getting tired of being treated so contemptuously by all of these creatures, and was determined to put a stop to it, somehow.
“But it is my room. Let me go, I say!” screamed the bird, struggling to get free, and dabbing at me viciously with his great beak.
“It is not your room,” I maintained; “and what is more, you are not going to stay here,” and I pushed the creature towards the door.