A Foolish Bird
With a menacing politeness, B—— to-day inquired of a fat curate who was occupying more than his fair share of a seat on top of a 'bus,—
"Are you going to get up or stay where ye are, sir?"
The foolish bird was sitting nearly on top of B——, mistaking a bomb for an egg.
"I beg your pardon," replied the fat curate.
B—— repeated his inquiry with more emphasis in the hideous Scotch brogue.
"I suppose I shall stay here till I get down presently."
"I don't think you will," said B——.
"What do you mean?" asked the fat one in falsetto indignation.
"This," B—— grunted, and shunted sideways so that the poor fellow almost slid on to the floor.