The Wildcat reached for the parrot. "You green debbil! Whut you mean, exercisin' mah mascot all night?"
"Quawk!" The parrot made a vicious swing at the Wildcat's reaching hand.
"Leggo, you debbil!"
The green parrot, fuming in a rage compared to which nitric acid was a cream puff, was restored to its Spring-drinking owner.
"Lady, heah's de green demon."
"Pretty Polly. What made her little feathers all mussed up?"
The Wildcat returned to his exhausted mascot.
"'At green chicken's lucky does he git by widout gittin' his health an' stren'th mussed up befo' dis trip ends. At res', Lily, till I brings you some nutriment. Doggone ol' bird must have near wore you out. 'At's de way wid dem mil'tary commands. Res' yo'se'f, Lily, till Ah brings yo' brekfust."
"Blaa!" answered Lily, weakly.
The Wildcat detected a tone of hypocrisy,—something of false gratitude—in the mascot's reply. He returned from the dining car carrying two heads of lettuce for the mascot. He placed the lettuce under the nose of the recumbent goat, but Lily refused to eat.