“Oh, I say! You must know what a bird is,” expostulated Dick.
“I don’t,” said the Palæotherium, stubbornly.
“Why—why—the Dodo is a bird,” explained Dick.
“Yes, but nothing like a robin, Dick, dear,” added Marjorie; “a robin is such a sweet, pretty little thing——”
“Well, I never!” exclaimed the Dodo, “do you mean to say I’m not a pretty little thing?”
“Well, you’re not quite like a robin, are you?” said Marjorie, getting out of the difficulty very cleverly.
“Not quite, perhaps,” admitted the Dodo; “but I am pretty,” he added decidedly.
“I don’t see what all this has to do with my conundrum,” said Dick.
“Well, let’s try again,” said the Archæopteryx. “Why is a robin like a waterbut?”
“A robin is a bird that comes in the winter,” repeated the Eterædarium, “and the waterbut—is that also a bird?”