“Ike, this is uh mystery,” he proclaims. “Honest to grandma, I don’t know what it means, but this letter says it was paid for and is on its way here. I didn’t think I got so drunk that I bought anything except more drinks, but—well, take uh look at this.”
He hands me the letter. At the top it proclaims to be from the Fur and Feathers Pet Shop, of Chicago. They orates that they handles each and everything what wears fur and feathers, and will supply same with cheer and great speed. The letter reads like this:
Dear Sir:—
As per your request and purchase we are shipping you today one cassowary. This is a male, and, in case you desires uh female, we can secure you one inside of thirty days. Thanking you for past and future favors, we begs to remain—and so forth.
I hands the letter back to Magpie, and rolls uh smoke.
“The letter was waiting for me when I got here,” he explains.
“You don’t need to apologize, Magpie. How much did yuh pay for this male bird, beast or reptile?”
“That’s what I don’t know, Ike. I’m sorry.”
“You always are, Magpie,” says I. “You can be sorry more times, hand running, than any man I ever seen. You were born to sorrow. Some folks are born to sorrow, but some are like me—they has sorrow forced upon ’em. What’ll we do with the danged thing?”
“How do I know?” he snaps at me. “Cassowary! What in —— is uh cassowary, Ike?”
“I ought to know!” I snaps right back at him. “You must uh been pretty blamed drunk, Magpie Simpkins.”