"Oh, go on. W'at he say?"
"You want to know w'at he said? Well, dat I can tell you. He was greatly astonish', an' he whispered to me, 'Who tol' you? You are not in de Pickwick?'"
"Oh, a little bird tol' me!" I answered him. "No, I am not in de club."
"But the name? Do tell us!"
"Oh, no. I cannot. If I told, dat would be telling, eh?"
"Sure! It is not necessary," said another. "Well, I am pleased, me."
"An' me!"
"I like always to listen w'en you tell somet'ing, Felix. Your story is all right—an' I believe you. I always believe any man in de Pickwick Club—on some subjects! Mais, ol' man, de nex' time you make a story at Leon's restaurant, suppose you move off dat magnolia-tree. A bird could stand on de window-sill across de street jus' as well—a real window-sill."
"T'ank you. I am sure a real somet'ing-to-stand-on would be better for a real bird. Mais, for dis particular bird, I t'ink my magnolia is more suitable. Don't forget de story of de Mongoose!"
"Nobody can get ahead of you, Felix. Well, it is a good t'ing. It is true, her fodder was de King at las' year's Carnival—an' it is lightning striking twice in de same place; an' yet—"