is such a mouthful, so I intended to call it a Chris-card. Don’t you think that rather neat?”

[Pg 54]

“I do, but it is not comparable to the neatness with which you draw a red herring across the scent. Of course, if he sends you the mongoose, you may keep it, and write a civil note of thanks, but we can hardly indulge in a close friendship with the nephew when the uncle cannot find a good word to say for us.”

I was that delighted that I scraped Minkie’s leg to tell her I was underneath the table. A mongoose coming to join the family! What is a mongoose, anyhow? Has it four legs, or two? Can it fight? I must have murmured my thoughts aloud, because the parrot gave a screech that made Schwartz jump.

“Go and hide in the nearest rabbit burrow, little dog,” he yelled. “Run away and bury yourself with a bone. When that mongoose turns up he’ll chase you into the next parish. Oh, Christopher! Aren’t we havin’ a beano? Another rum ’ot, please, miss.”

I kept my temper. There is no use arguing with a parrot. You can’t get at him, and he [Pg 55]has an amazing variety of language at command; but I must state one small point in his favor; if you pay no heed to his vulgarity, and cut out of his talk the silly bits which seem to please people who wear clothes, he gives one a lot of useful information. He will not say a word in a friendly way, same as I give even Tibbie the nod if there’s a mouse in the kitchen. The best plan is to sauce him, or sneer at him. Then he flies into a rage and talks like a book.

[Pg 55]

So, “Polly,” said I, “you shouldn’t strain your voice in that fashion. It will make your feet ache.”

He knew what I meant well enough, because just then he was hanging head downwards from his perch. He reached out and took a grip of a steel bar in his beak, pretending he had hold of me by the neck.

“If I were you I’d whitewash my face in the hope that the mongoose would not recognize me after the first round,” he croaked.

“I believe you are afraid of the thing yourself.”

“Say not so, whiskers. Kiss me, mother, [Pg 56]kiss your darling. A full-grown mongoose will make you the sickest dog in the British Isles. Whoop at him, Boxer! Back to him, Bendigo! O my sainted aunt, I’ll watch that snake-catcher chuck you into the lake. Nah, then, 

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