“You did what?” he cried, bursting into a roar of laughter. “Why, who was Polly—one of the maids?”
“Oh no, sir! Aunt Sophy’s stuffed parrot.”
“Well, really, Nat,” he said, laughing most heartily, “you’re the strangest boy I ever met.”
“Am I, sir?” I said, feeling a little chilled again, for he seemed to be laughing unpleasantly at me.
“That you are, Nat; but I like strange boys. So you pulled Polly to pieces, eh? And found out where the naturalists put the wires, eh?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And how do you preserve the skins?”
“With arsenical soap, sir.”
“That’s right; so do I.”
“But it’s very dangerous stuff, sir,” I said eagerly.