"That nigger of mine is perfectly useless. Look at that perch! Hasn't
been cleaned for a week."
"Yes, suh; cleaned yesterday, suh," Simmons murmured, hobbling up with
a handful of chickweed which he arranged on the top of one of the
cages, its faint faded smell mingling with the heavy fragrance of the
locust blossoms.
"Whiskey!" Mr. Wright commanded.
"Not for me," said Dr. Lavendar; and there was the usual snarl, during
which Simmons disappeared. The whiskey was not produced.
"Lavendar, look at that cock--the scoundrel understands every word we
say."
"He does look knowing. Benjamin, I just dropped in to tell you that I
think you needn't worry so about Sam's Sam. Your neighbor has promised
Willy King that she will help us with him. But I want you to talk the
matter over with Samuel, and--" "My _neighbor?_" the older man
interrupted, his lower lip dropping with dismay. "Ye don't mean--the
female at the Stuffed Animal House?"
"Yes; Mrs. Richie. She will snub him if it's necessary, William says;
but she'll help us, by urging him to attend to his business. See?"
"I see--more than you do!" cried Benjamin Wright. "Much Willy King has
accomplished! It's just what I've always said;--if you want a thing
done, do it yourself. It's another case of these confounded canaries.
If they are not to be eaten up by some devilish cat, I've got to sit
out here and watch over 'em.
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