“She believes in warnings and death-watches, and all that sort of thing,” said the Chief, “so why shouldn’t she?”
“Well, you’ll know whether she believes in it or not when you come back,” said Rogers, “and it’ll be a great pity, because it’s a beautiful talker.”
“What do you mean?” said the other.
“I mean it’ll get its little neck wrung,” said the Third.
“Well, we’ll see,” said Gannett. “I shall know what to think if it does die.”
“I shall never see that bird again,” said Rogers, shaking his head as the Chief took up the cage and handed it to the steward, who was to accompany him home with it.
The couple left the ship and proceeded down the East India Dock Road side by side, the only incident being a hot argument between a constable and the engineer as to whether he could or could not be held responsible for the language in which the parrot saw fit to indulge when the steward happened to drop it.
The engineer took the cage at his door, and, not without some misgivings, took it upstairs into the parlour and set it on the table. Mrs. Gannett, a simple-looking woman, with sleepy brown eyes and a docile manner, clapped her hands with joy.
“Isn’t it a beauty?” said Mr. Gannett, looking at it; “I bought it to be company for you while I’m away.”
“You’re too good to me, Jem,” said his wife. She walked all round the cage admiring it, and the parrot, which was of a hugely suspicious and nervous disposition, having had boys at its last place, turning with her. After she had walked round him five times he got sick of it, and in a simple sailorly fashion said so.