“Oh, yes, sir; but then a poll parrot could talk.”
“Yes, but he had to teach it first,” said Dean.
“Yes, sir,” said Dan, “but you couldn’t teach a sheep. Why, if you had one of them for years you would never get anything out of him but Baa!”
“Bah, then, to what you are saying,” cried Mark. “Here, I say, you, sir,” he cried, looking in an amused way at their visitor, who had finished his clipping, pocketed his scissors, and had taken hold of his moustachios as if they were reins and stroked them down with a twist, looking dolefully at those about him the while; “I’ll answer for it that we give you some breakfast, and then you had better be off.”
The man shook his head.
“Eh? What do you mean by that?” said Mark.
The man shook his head again and took out his scissors as if about to begin clipping once more, but bethought himself and put them back.
Dan chuckled as if he thought it was very good fun, and Buck bent down and whispered something in the little fellow’s ear.
“Here, what’s that?” cried Mark sharply.
“He means he’s going to stop to dinner, sir.”