“All in good time, young gentlemen,” came the cool answer.
“Look here,” called Phil, going to the inner door, “we’re not going to stand this any more; if you’re going to humbug us about that bird it will be the worse for you.”
“If you don’t bring up that bird by the time I’ve counted fifty,” said Andrew, “we’ll make hay of your shop.”
“Come on, Aaron,” Tubbs was next heard to say—he spoke in aggressively loud tones—“don’t do to keep little squeakers too long without their pap and their playthings, so best see to them now.”
“Little squeakers, indeed,” cried Phil, “he ought to be knocked into the middle of next week for daring to speak like that;” whilst Andrew remarked, with a withering sneer at Gaston and Hubert, “That’s the sort of remark we must expect if we go about with babies.”
“I’m not a baby,” cried Hubert, flaring up with indignation, “a baby’s a horrid little thing that always seems crying out of its mouth, instead of its eyes.”
At that moment Jonas appeared with the cage, cabbage-leaf and all tucked under his arm. Aaron, with a broad grin on his face, followed close on his parent’s heels.
“Now give me the bird,” said Andrew, stepping forward, “let me have it, just as it is in its cage, do you hear?”
“Certainly, my young sir, by all manner of means,” said the cobbler. “You mind, Aaron, he says he’ll have it ‘just as it is in its cage!’ ”
And as Aaron nodded assent, Jonas, with much show of deference, placed the wicker cage in Andrew’s out-stretched hands.