Professor. And I don’t!—I don’t!—I don’t!
Bird-in-Hand. Cheer-up! Cheer-up! Cheer-up!—Oh, why? (Petrifaction gives way to fury)
Professor. Stop it! Stop it, I say! (He picks up a pamphlet and throws it with random aim, this hit-or-miss has little effect. A deep sadness at its failure to rouse the birds has taken the tree imp. Crying in a low plaintive note it turns towards him)
Bird-in-Hand. Wee-wee! wee-wee-wee!
(It advances slowly towards him. The Professor makes a grab at the speaking-tube, and blows, then speaks down it.)
Professor. Miss Tuckey, are you there! Miss Tuckey!
Bird-in-Hand. (Halting for a moment) Tuckey, tuckey, tuckey—Tuck!—tuck!—tuck!
Professor. Would you come up, please, for one moment!
Bird-in-Hand. (Secretively) Sh—sh—wee! (As if on a tour of exploration, it disappears behind the screen at his back)
Professor. Now I shall know whether I am mad or not. Yes, I shall know!—(Enter Miss Tuckey. The Professor faces her in some confusion. The relief of her presence lets him down and it is hard for him to collect his wits) I—I—I want you to see that those proofs go, Miss Tuckey—by the first post.