“Do you keep golden pheasants too?” asked Dan.
“Sure, they’re over in those pens near the barn. You can tell a golden pheasant by their fluffy yellow crest, red breast and long yellow tail feathers in scale pattern.”
“I see you are quite an authority on pheasants,” the Cub leader remarked, hoping to coax the man into a good humor.
“Well, I been workin’ fer Mr. Silverton more’n two years now,” Dobbs informed in a less hostile tone. “But pheasant raisin’ is hard work. You have to keep close watch of the eggs when they’re hatching. There’s pens to be cleaned and fumigated, sick pheasants to be treated and always you have to be on the alert to see that none of ’em get away. I got too much to do.”
“We don’t mean to put you to any trouble,” said Mr. Hatfield. “Don’t let us keep you from your work.”
Dobbs shot the Cub leader a quick glance, half suspicious, and replied curtly: “If you want to see the silver pheasants, there’s a new hatch of ’em over in the south pens.”
“Does Mr. Silverton keep any birds that are imported from Burma or the Malay States?” Dan asked eagerly. “How about Germain’s peacock pheasant?”
“Seems you’re pretty well versed in pheasants,” Dobbs said, eyeing the boy keenly. “Who told you to ask that?”
“Why, no one. Mr. Silverton mentioned it, that was all.”
“Well, we got a few of ’em,” Dobbs said reluctantly. “We’re having trouble getting the birds started. You won’t find any of ’em here by the barn.”