"Think o' that poor chap goin' an' doin' it after wot 'e'd 'eard. Isn't it jest like 'em. Nobody won't believe nothink till they've tried it themselves.
"I 'ad a mate, a real sport 'e was. 'E wouldn't believe me, said 'is little bit o' fluff wasn't like other bits wot I'd seen. 'E talked as if 'e could 'ear 'er feathers a-rustling when the wind blew, poor chap! Then 'e did it."
Bindle paused as if overcome by the memory of his mate's misfortune.
"'E 'adn't 'ad 'er a month when 'e comes round to me one Saturday afternoon. I was sittin' in the back-yard a-listenin' to a canary and wot Mrs. 'Iggins thought of 'er ole man.
"'You was right, Joe,' 'e says, lookin' about as 'appy as a lobster wot 'ears the pot bubblin'.
"'So you don't 'ear the wind through 'er feathers now, Jim?' I says.
"'There never warn't no feathers, Joe,' 'e says, 'only claws. Come an' 'ave a drink?'
"When a cove wot's been talkin' about 'is misses says, 'Come an' 'ave a drink,' you can lay outsider's odds on 'is 'avin' drawn a blank."
"J.B. never admits of the law of exception," remarked Dare. "That is the fundamental weakness of his logical equipment."
"Fancy it bein' all that," remarked Bindle drily.