Mr Rogers blinked knowledgeably.  “It shortens the distance,” he replied, “by a lot.  But you was sayin’ as coals burned faster.  Well, they do, and what’s the reason?”

“Ah!” said Mr Philp.  “That’s what I’d like to know.”

“Well, I’ll give ‘ee the information, and nothin’ to pay.  Coals burn faster as a man burns slower.  You’re gettin’ on in life; an’ next time you draw your knees higher the grate you can tell yourself that, William Philp. . . .  Hullo! there’s Cap’n Hunken! . . .  Mornin’, Cap’n.  That’s a fine bird you’re carryin’.”

“A parrot, by the looks of it,” put in Mr Philp.

“Sherlock ’Omes!” Mr Rogers congratulated him curtly.

“‘Mornin’, Mr Rogers—­mornin’, Mr Philp!” ’Bias halted and held out the cage at half-arm’s length.  “Yes, ’tis a fine bird I’m told.”  He eyed the parrot vindictively.

“Talks?”

“Damn!  That’s just it.”

“What can it say?”

“Dunno.  Wish I did.  Will ye take the bird for a gift, or would ye rather have sixpence to wring its neck?”

“Both,” suggested Mr Philp with promptitude.

“What yer wrigglin’ for like that, at the back o’ my chair, you Tabb’s child?” asked Mr Rogers, whose paralysis prevented his turning his head.

“Offer for ’n, master!” whispered Fancy.  Mr Rogers, if he heard, made no sign.  “D’ye mean it?” he inquired of ’Bias.  “I’m rather partial to parrots, as it happens:  and it’s a fine bird.  What’s the matter with it?”

“I don’t know,” ’Bias confessed again.  “I wish somebody’d find out:  but they tell me it can’t be trusted with ladies.”

“Is that why you’re takin’ it for a walk? . . .  Well, I’ll risk five bob, if it’s goin’ cheap.”

Mr Philp’s face fell.  “I’d ha’ gone half-a-crown, myself,” he murmured resignedly; “but I can’t bid up against a rich man like Mr Rogers. . . .  You don’t know what the creetur says?”

“No more’n Adam—­only that it’s too shockin’ for human ears.  If Mr Rogers cares to take the bird for five shillin’, he’s welcome, and good riddance.  Only he won’t never find out what’s wrong with him.”

“Honest?” asked Mr Rogers.

“Honest.  I’ve lived alongside this bird seven years; he was bought off a missionary; and I don’t know.”

“Ah, well!” sighed Mr Philp.  “Money can’t buy everything.  But I don’t mind bettin’ I’d ha’ found out.”

“Would ye now?” queried Mr Rogers with a wicked chuckle.  “I’ll put up a match, then.  The bird’s mine for five shillin’:  but Philp shall have him for a month, and I’ll bet Philp half-a-crown he don’t discover what you’ve missed.  Done, is it?”

“Done.’” echoed Mr Philp, appealing to ’Bias and reaching out a hand for the cage.

“Done!” echoed ‘Bias.  “Five shillin’ suits me at any time, and I’m glad to be rid o’ the brute.”

“There’s one stippylation,” put in Mr Rogers.  “Philp must tell me honest what he discovers. . . .  You, Tabb’s child, you’re jogglin’ my chair again!”