"Has my brother arrived?" he asked of the stable-boy, who had come
with the pony-carriage to meet him.
"Yessir, came down by the two-fifteen. Your parrot's dead." The
boy made the latter announcement with the relish which his class
finds in proclaiming a catastrophe.
"My parrot dead?" said Groby. "What caused its death?"
"The ipe," said the boy briefly.
"The ipe?" queried Groby. "Whatever's that?"
"The ipe what the Colonel brought down with him," came the rather
alarming answer.
"Do you mean to say my brother is ill?" asked Groby. "Is it
something infectious?"
"Th' Colonel's so well as ever he was," said the boy; and as no
further explanation was forthcoming Groby had to possess himself
in mystified patience till he reached home. His brother was
waiting for him at the hall door.
"Have you heard about the parrot?" he asked at once. "'Pon my
soul I'm awfully sorry. The moment he saw the monkey I'd brought
down as a surprise for you he squawked out 'Rats to you, sir!' and
the blessed monkey made one spring at him, got him by the neck and
whirled him round like a rattle. He was as dead as mutton by the
time I'd got him out of the little beggar's paws.
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