“Dear me, what a pity! I’m not moulting, or you might have had one or two of my feathers to stick on for a tail,” he added.
“H’m! I shouldn’t have thought you had any to spare for moulting purposes,” said the Archæopteryx.
“Don’t be unkind,” retorted the Dodo; “you haven’t many to boast of.”
“I’ve more than you have, anyhow,” said the Archæopteryx.
“Oh, for goodness’ sake leave off quarreling. What on earth does it matter how many feathers you have?” said Dick.
“Not to a boy, I suppose,” remarked the Dodo, somewhat insolently; “but no respectable bird would care to be seen about with less than five; though, undoubtedly, too many are vulgar”—this with a scornful glance at the Archæopteryx’s tail, which was decorated with quite a number of curious flat feathers.
I don’t know how much longer this wrangling would have gone on, had not the Court Glover just then made his appearance.
“Time’s up!” he announced, sternly. “Are you prepared for execution, Dodo?”
“Not quite,” answered the Executioner, who was putting the finishing touches to the effigy; “his head keeps tumbling off.”
“Never mind, it will save cutting it off,” said the Court Glover, who was evidently quite used to the Executioner’s patent method of performing his dreadful duty.