The parrot, hopping to the farthest corner of the bottom of his cage, said something feebly. Finding that nothing dreadful happened, he repeated his remark somewhat more boldly, and, being convinced after all that the apparition was quite harmless and that he had displayed his craven spirit for nothing, hopped back on his perch and raved wickedly.
“If that was my bird,” said Mrs. Cluffins, almost as scarlet as her parasol, “I should wring its neck.”
“No, you wouldn’t,” said Mrs. Gannett solemnly. And having quieted the bird by throwing a cloth over its cage, she explained its properties.
“What!” said Mrs. Cluffins, unable to sit still in her chair. “You mean to tell me your husband said that!”
Mrs. Gannett nodded, “He’s awfully jealous of me,” she said with a slight simper.
“I wish he was my husband,” said Mrs. Cluffins in a thin, hard voice. “I wish C. would talk to me like that. I wish somebody would try and persuade C. to talk to me like that.”
“It shows he’s fond of me,” said Mrs. Gannett, looking down.
Mrs. Cluffins jumped up and snatched the cover off the cage; endeavoured, but in vain, to get the parasol through the bars.
“And you believe that rubbish!” she said scathingly. “Bosh, you wretch!”
“I don’t believe it,” said her friend, taking her gently away and covering the cage hastily just as the bird was recovering, “but I let him think I do.”