“That thing, Chuck,” says I, “is what uh man buys in the East when he’s drunk up seven hundred dollars’ worth uh mixed hooch. Cassowary is uh French word what means, ‘something yuh bought when you’re too drunk to consider the expense and necessity.’”
“I always did like the French language,” states Chuck. “It sure is expressive that-away, ’cause yuh don’t have to say much to mean uh whole lot. My mother was French. Name was Jones. Yuh pronounces it ‘Hones,’ the J being silent like the Q in cassowary.”
“Well,” says I, “we got to do something, and, being as it belongs to you, Magpie, I reckon yuh better suggest.”
But Magpie sucks away on that cigaret, and shakes his head.
“I’d admire to hear all about it,” states Chuck. “There must be uh deep and dark mystery about that bird, Magpie. If I knowed the details about that bird’s past, maybe I could help yuh out.”
Magpie is willing to receive help—as usual—so he sets down there and tells Chuck all about it —what he can remember.
“How much do yuh think yuh paid for it?” asks Chuck. “You sure ought to remember that part of it.”
“Dang me if I know,” replies Magpie. “Couple uh hundred, most likely. What yuh got on your mind, Chuck?”
“Say, what good is uh cassowary? If she was worth something to humanity we might peddle the blasted thing. If folks had an idea it was—cripes!”
“What’s the exciting thought, Chuck?” I asks, but Chuck begins to roll uh fresh cigaret and grin to himself. Pretty soon he busts out laughing and slaps his quirt across his chaps.