“You could do no less,” I said. “But what about the bird itself?”
“I regret to say,” said my father, “that he professed to admire it.”
I stared at him aghast.
“Professed to admire it?” I gasped. “The vicar that we have supported all these years?”
My father covered his eyes for a moment.
“Even so,” he said. “As I had to point out to him, I was seriously shaken.”
“But surely you protested,” I cried.
“For seventy-five minutes,” said my father.
“But couldn’t he perceive,” I said, “that it was a direct insult to us?”
My father moved his hand a little.