"Of course," said Pee-wee to the girl, "it would be easy enough to shin up that tree—that would be a cinch—anybody could do that—I mean any feller—of course, a girl couldn't; but I'd only frighten him away."
"You'll never get him," said one man.
"What kind of a bird is it?" Tom asked.
"It's a dwarf parrot," the girl sobbed, "and I'll never get him—never!"
"You don't want to get discouraged," said Pee-wee. "Gee, there's always some way."
The spectators evidently did not agree with him. Some of them remained about, smiling; others went away. The diminutive Pee-wee seemed to amuse them quite as much as the diminutive parrot, but all were agreed (as they continually remarked to each other) that the bird was a "goner."
"Is he tame?" Roy asked.
"He was getting tame," the girl sobbed, "and he was learning to say my name. My father would give a hundred dollars—Oh," she broke off, "now he is going away!" She began to cry pitifully.
Pee-wee stood a moment thoughtfully. "Have you got a garden hose?" he presently asked.
"Yes, but you're not going to squirt water at him," said the girl, indignantly.