“That only proves you are insipid,” retorted Paganel, with an air of disdain.
“I am delighted to be insipid,” was the Major’s reply.
“Well, it is humiliating enough,” said the intractable Paganel. “The white man proclaimed himself chief of the human race; but Mr. Jaguar is of a different opinion it seems.”
“Be that as it may, my brave Paganel, seeing there are neither Indians, nor negroes, nor mulattoes among us, I am quite rejoiced at the absence of your beloved jaguars. Our situation is not so particularly agreeable.”
“What! not agreeable!” exclaimed Paganel, jumping at the word as likely to give a new turn to the conversation. “You are complaining of your lot, Glenarvan.”
“I should think so, indeed,” replied Glenarvan. “Do you find these uncomfortable hard branches very luxurious?”
“I have never been more comfortable, even in my study. We live like the birds, we sing and fly about. I begin to believe men were intended to live on trees.”
“But they want wings,” suggested the Major.
“They’ll make them some day.”
“And till then,” put in Glenarvan, “with your leave, I prefer the gravel of a park, or the floor of a house, or the deck of a ship, to this aerial dwelling.”