“You’d better pour yourself out another cup,” he said thoughtfully as he caught the Third’s eye.
“I’m going to,” said the other dryly.
“The man I bought it off,” said the Chief, giving the bird the sop, “said that it was a perfectly respectable parrot and wouldn’t know a bad word if it heard it I hardly like to give it to my wife now.”
“It’s no good being too particular,” said the Third, regarding him with an ill-concealed grin; “that’s the worst of all you young married fellows. Seem to think your wife has got to be wrapped up in brown paper. Ten chances to one she’ll be amused.”
The Chief shrugged his shoulders disdainfully. “I bought the bird to be company for her,” he said slowly; “she’ll be very lonesome without me, Rogers.”
“How do you know?” inquired the other.
“She said so,” was the reply.
“When you’ve been married as long as I have,” said the Third, who having been married some fifteen years felt that their usual positions were somewhat reversed, “you’ll know that generally speaking they’re glad to get rid of you.”
“What for?” demanded the Chief in a voice that Othello might have envied.
“Well, you get in the way a bit,” said Rogers with secret enjoyment; “you see you upset the arrangements. House-cleaning and all that sort of thing gets interrupted. They’re glad to see you back at first, and then glad to see the back of you.”