"First, I should like to know—why, do you intend to come out?" I interrupted as he moved nearer the fence.
"Oh, no; but it's just as well that the women folks don't hear all we have to say. They have such a disagreeable fashion of contradicting, you know, and such good memories, that when you're least expecting it up they'll drag some remark made months ago to clinch an argument against you. Females are such queer creatures—but I beg your pardon," he added apologetically, remembering my sex. "I forgot."
"How many wives have you?" I queried, beginning the interview.
"Well," marking with his claws in the sand as he named over Louisa Mercedes, Cassie, Maud, and a number of others. "I have, as near as I can figure it, about nine now."
"Now?" I repeated.
"Yes. I had more the first of the season, but the folks up at the house have the habit of coming through that door in the barn yonder when the minister comes to dinner and carrying off any member of my family which strikes their fancy. I don't know what they do with them, I am sure, but presently I hear a dreadful squawk or two in the woodshed, a flouncing around, and then all is still. It is very painful, I assure you," and Mr. Rooster, lifting one foot, pretended to wipe a tear from his sharp, dry eyes.
"You defend them, of course," I responded, endeavoring to appear solemn.
"Of course," swaggered the husband and father, "and sometimes I crow as loud as I can for an hour or so afterward."
"Crow?"
"Yes, to let the folks know I'm not conquered."