What a fool, thought I, to have asked such an uncheerful and uncheerable creature about a cheerful cock!
I walked on. I had now descended the high land where my house stood, and being in a low tract could not hear the crow of the Shanghai, which doubtless overshot me there. Besides, the Shanghai might be at lunch of corn and oats, or taking a nap, and so interrupted his jubilations for a while.
At length, I encountered riding along the road, a portly gentleman—nay, a pursy one—of great wealth, who had recently purchased him some noble acres, and built him a noble mansion, with a goodly fowl-house attached, the fame whereof spread through all the country. Thought I, Here now is the owner of the Shanghai.
“Sir,” said I, “excuse me, but I am a countryman of yours, and would ask, if so be you own any Shanghais?”
“Oh, yes; I have ten Shanghais.”
“Ten!” exclaimed I, in wonder; “and do they all crow?”
“Most lustily; every soul of them; I wouldn’t own a cock that wouldn’t crow.”
“Will you turn back, and show me those Shanghais?”
“With pleasure: I am proud of them. They cost me, in the lump, six hundred dollars.”
As I walked by the side of his horse, I was thinking to myself whether possibly I had not mistaken the harmoniously combined crowings of ten Shanghais in a squad, for the supernatural crow of a single Shanghai by himself.