“Sir?” said Blinks.
“Yes!” said Dick.
“I thought you spoke,” said Blinks.
“Oh no,” said the bird, “I often talk to myself. What is that between your toes?” So saying, the bird hopped up to Blinks, and separating his toes with his beak in a very rude manner, he gazed between them.
“Don’t do that again, if you please,” said Blinks.
“Certainly not, if you desire it. Cock-a-doodle-doo, sugar and brandy, pretty darling; but what is that in your nostril? Sugar, snails.” And before our hero was aware, the starling’s bill was inserted, opened like the toes of a compass, and the nose of poor Blinks nearly torn open. This was too much of a good thing; and Blinks aimed a cuff and fired a lucifer-match at the bird, causing that gentleman to spring quickly backwards and ejaculate.
“Hurrah! hurrah! you rascal! Love is the soul of a nate Irish snail, you rogue.” After which he brought up the poor cricket again; and he, glad to see day-light again, said, “Thank you, sir,” and was moving off.
“No, you don’t now!” said the bird, seizing him by the hindermost leg. “How many stones in my gizzard, you unhappy little wretch?”
“Mercy, mercy!” cried the cricket, “I entirely forget.”
“Then down you go again,” said the starling; and down the cricket went.