"Could you tell me, sir, if them white birds is storks or
halbatrosses? I had an argyment--"
The cold dignity thawed at once into genial friendliness.
"Those are pelicans, my dear sir. Are you interested in birds?
If you would join me in a bun and a glass of milk at the stall
yonder, I could tell you some interesting things about Indian
birds. Right oh! Now the hill-mynah, for instance--"
The two men disappeared in the direction of the bun stall,
chatting volubly as they went, and shadowed from the other side of
the railed enclosure by a black swan, whose temper seemed to have
reached the limit of inarticulate rage.
Belturbet gazed in an open-mouthed wonder after the retreating
couple, then transferred his attention to the infuriated swan, and
finally turned with a look of scared comprehension at his young
friend lolling unconcernedly in his chair. There was no longer
any room to doubt what was happening. The "silly talk" had been
translated into terrifying action.
"I think a prairie oyster on the top of a stiffish brandy-and-soda
might save my reason," said Belturbet weakly, as he limped towards
his club.
It was late in the day before he could steady his nerves
sufficiently to glance at the evening papers.
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