"Oh, yes, plenty of fruit," replied Tom very nervously.
"And now, sir," said the Flamingo, severely, and ruffling his feathers like an angry turkey, "now for the main point. Thomas—and, mind you I want a truthful answer. Did you ever eat a broiled—Flamingo for your Sunday morning breakfast?"
Tom breathed a sigh of relief as the Flamingo blurted out the last part of his question.
"No, sir. Never!" he replied.
"Then hurry and climb up on my shoulders here," the Flamingo cried. "You're a boy after my own heart. I believe you'd be kind to a stuffed parrot. But hurry—there's the edge right ahead of us. Jump—"
Tom jumped and in a moment was sitting astride of the great bird's neck. In his right hand he grasped the claw of Righty, in his left that of Lefty, while these two clutched tightly hold of the Bellows and the Poker respectively. A moment later the Oscycle reached the edge and dashed wildly over it, the Kangaroo following out his plan of jumping higher still and fortunately for himself catching a passing trolley cloud by which he was borne back to the starting point again.
As for the Polar Bear and the Hippopotamus, they plunged out into space, while the group comprising our little party from home and the Flamingo soared gracefully back to earth again, where the generous-hearted bird deposited them safely on top of the most convenient Alp.
"Thanks very much," said Tom, as he clambered down from the bird's neck and stood upon solid ground again.
"Don't mention it," said the Flamingo. "It's a pleasure to serve a bird-defender and his friends," and with this he soared away.
"I'm glad he didn't ask me if I ever ate broiled chicken for Sunday breakfast," said Tom.