Titus grinned. His grandfather was a great trial to him, but it was only in one respect. In other ways he was a model grandfather.
“Hope it will live,” said Charlie, generously. “Tuck some food down its throat—some feed one way, some another—and mix some sweet oil in it. I’ve heard that’s good when you take them from the parents.”
Titus stood a minute longer; then seeing that the pigeon was near her end, and that Charlie was unconcernedly going on with his work of feeding and watering the other pigeons, he scampered home.
Titus lived with his grandfather, Judge Sancroft, and Judge Sancroft possessed a somewhat foolish and provoking but most devoted old family servant man called Higby.
Titus ran all about the house looking for this man. He was really forbidden to talk to him unless he was positively forced to do so. The Judge had commanded that Titus should only request a service from Higby, and thank him for one rendered. There was to be no conversation, for old Higby stammered terribly, and the Judge feared that it was from him Titus had caught the tiresome habit.
Finally the boy found the man in the attic superintending some painters.
“S-s-see what I’ve got, Higby,” he said, opening his palms, where he was keeping the pigeon warm.
“A s-s-squab,” said Higby, “a-a-and and an ugly w-w-worm of a thing it is.”
“W-w-what shall I do with it?” asked Titus.
“W-w-wring it’s neck, young sir,” said Higby, who was much worried by the painters. “’Tis a s-s-sad world for m-m-man, woman, or pigeon.”