“That will be nice,” I said; “and when will you show me?”
“Let's see” (he turned to Slim), “two nights more, isn't it? All right then (to me), in two nights more you'll see.”
Just then a moth which flew in caused a welcome diversion—for I could see that somehow I had touched on a sore subject, and that he was feeling awkward—and he first jumped at it and then ran after it. Slim lingered. I raised my eyebrows and pointed at Wag. Slim nodded.
“The fact is,” he said in a low voice, “he got us into rather a row yesterday and we're all stopped flying for three nights.”
“Oh,” said I. “I see: you must tell him I am very sorry for being so stupid. May I ask who stopped you?”
“Oh, just the old man, not the owls.”
“You do go to the owls for something, then?” I asked, trying to appear intelligent.
“Yes, history and geography.”
“To be sure,” I said; “of course they've seen a lot, haven't they?”
“So they say,” said Slim, “but——”