I gave the required coin, and Mr Magglin spat on it, spun it in the air, caught it, and placed it in his pocket.
“Thank-ye,” he said.
“Got any birds for me?”
“Nay, nary one; but I knows of a beauty you’d give your ears to get.”
“What is it?” cried Mercer eagerly.
“All bootiful green, with a head as red as carrots.”
“Get out! Gammon! Think I don’t know better than that? He means a parrot he’s seen in its cage.”
“Nay, I don’t,” said the man. “I mean a big woodpecker down in Squire Hawkus Rye’s woods.”
“Oh, Magg: get it for me!”
“Nay, I dunno as I can. Old Hopley’s on the look-out for me, and if I was to shoot that there bird, he’d swear it was a fezzan.”