'
Robert stamped with fury. Cyril felt himself growing pale with
rage, and with the effort of screwing up his brain to make it
clever enough to think of some way of being even with those boys.
Anthea and Jane were as angry as the boys, but it made them want to
cry. Yet it was Anthea who said--
'Do, PLEASE, let us have the bird.'
'Dew, PLEASE, get along and leave us an' our bird alone.'
'If you don't,' said Anthea, 'I shall fetch the police.'
'You better!' said he who was named Urb. 'Say, Ike, you twist the
bloomin' pigeon's neck; he ain't worth tuppence.'
'Oh, no,' cried Jane, 'don't hurt it. Oh, don't; it is such a
pet.'
'I won't hurt it,' said Ike; 'I'm 'shamed of you, Urb, for to think
of such a thing. Arf a shiner, miss, and the bird is yours for
life.'
'Half a WHAT?' asked Anthea.
'Arf a shiner, quid, thick 'un--half a sov, then.'
'I haven't got it--and, besides, it's OUR bird,' said Anthea.
'Oh, don't talk to him,' said Cyril and then Jane said suddenly--
'Phoenix--dear Phoenix, we can't do anything. YOU must manage it.'
'With pleasure,' said the Phoenix--and Ike nearly dropped it in his
amazement.
'I say, it do talk, suthin' like,' said he.
'Youths,' said the Phoenix, 'sons of misfortune, hear my words.'
'My eyes!' said Ike.
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