"But I want to have something to say to you," cried King Albus.
"Well then, out with it. I'm not going to stand here palavering all day, with my feathers up like a ruffed grouse. I'm catching cold, I am. I'll go to work to warm myself presently, and it will be a bad thing for you when I do."
"What d'ye mean by being bigger than me, then?" said the white cock.
"Oh! that's your grievance, is it?"
"Yes, and what d'ye mean by crowing louder every morning, and wearing that silly old plume on top o' your poll, and those stupid long spurs on your heels, eh?"
"Anything else?"
"Ye-s—What d'ye mean by having more oats to eat than me? And more hens to walk about and sing to ye, eh?"
"Oh! You envious silly old thing, you," cried King Crève. "Go home at once, and learn to live a better life, do."
"Not till I've killed King Cur."