“No danger of that. You just hold him still.”
The operation was quickly performed and a few moments later the little green bird was angrily stalking away, shaking his ruffled feathers and uttering indignant squawks at every step.
“Look at him,” laughed Grant. “My, but he’s mad.”
“So would you be,” said George. “Imagine being treated like that by someone about a hundred times as big as you are.”
“It would rouse me a little,” admitted Grant. “What are you going to name him?”
“I don’t know. What’s a good name, anyway?”
“Call him Snip,” suggested Fred. “He certainly took a snip out of you.”
“That’s a good one,” exclaimed George. “His name is Snip.”
“You’ll have to teach him his name now, Pop,” said Grant. “That’ll give you something to do and keep you out of mischief.”
“I want him to talk, too,” said George, “and I want him to get so tame that he’ll ride around on my shoulder wherever I go.”