At this moment there arose a most furious noise from some fowls that were wandering about among the van wheels, where a fight was beginning. Alfonso had already managed to pick a quarrel with someone of his own sex, and the hens were screeching as the two birds crouched opposite to each other, making leaps into the air and striking out until the feathers flew.
“Alfonso! Alfonso! stop this moment!” screamed Maggie. “Oh! what a way to behave!”
But she could not get at him because of the baby she held.
“He has dreadful manners,” moaned the Cochin-China cock. But he would not have said that if Alfonso had been able to hear him.
“Well,” said the man, vaulting down the steps, “that’s the finest little game-bird I ever saw.”
And without more ado he separated the fighters and pushed Alfonso under a basket that stood upside down near the van. There was a hole in it, and through this Alfonso stuck his head and crowed at the top of his voice.
“What are you doing to him?” cried Maggie. “He is my friend, and we are travelling together.”
“He’s mine now,” replied the man, “for I’m going to keep him.”
“But I can’t part from him—you have got no right to take him away.” And the tears rushed to Maggie’s eyes at the thought.
“Best come along too,” said the woman, who spoke little.