'Yas, I golors de bichin yellows unt creen and plue unt all sorts golors. Only five thalers der piece.'
'Do you think,' said Mr. Barnum, 'that you could prepare a great Patriotic National Lusus Naturæ, recently found perching on Independence Hall, Philadelphia—or hold—that's better—Mount Vernon? Could you color an eagle, with red stars on his breast, and blue and white stripes running down big tail?'
The Dutchman thought he could, if the eagle's bill were tied, and his claws each stuck into a cork.
'Well, try your hand at it. But hold—go up stairs and put the pigeon into the Happy Family.'
The Dutchman stumped away. In about ten minutes Mr. Feathers, the ornithologist of the Museum, came rushing down, in a wild state of fluttering excitement.
'Good God, Mr. Barnum, you're not going to put that bird into the Happy Family!'
'Why not?' inquired Mr. Barnum, serenely.
'Why—it is the greatest curiosity you own. Heavens! a YELLOW pigeon! Sir, it is an anomaly—an undiscovered rarity—a—a—why, sir, it's an incredibility! I say, to my shame, I never heard of it. From Australia, I presume? There are some undiscovered marvels still left in that queer country.'
'No; it's the California golden pigeon.' ('That will take very well,' quoth Barnum to himself.)
So the pigeon went up to the Happy Family, and entered cordially into the innocent amusements of that blessed band. He sat on the cat's head, and on the dog's back, and suffered the mice to nestle under his wings, and never made them afraid. As for the owl, she fairly made love to him.