"Behold the
amazing instinct implanted by nature. See how the feathered epicure
picks and chooses his morning meal!"
"If a 'feathered pickyer' means a black thief as ever was, sir, that
bird's well named!" said the housekeeper wrathfully.
At last Mike made his final choice, and, out of pure contrariness, it
was the bowl of hot bread and milk prepared for Jinty's breakfast from
which he flatly refused to be elbowed away.
"My pretty! Has it snatched the very cup from thy lip!" Mrs. Barbara's
indignation boiled over against the bold audacious tyrant so abetted by
its master--and hers. "If I'd but my will o' thee, thou thief, I'd flog
thee sore!" she added.
"Quoth the raven: never more!"
solemnly edged in the professor, with a ponderous chuckle over his own
aptitude which went unapplauded save by himself.
"I want my breakfast, grandpapa," whimpered Jinty.
It was all very funny indeed to witness Mike's reckless charge of
destruction over the snowy tablecloth, but, when it came to his calm
appropriation of her own breakfast, why, as Mrs. Barbara said, "Flesh
and blood couldn't stand it."
"Have a cup of black coffee and some omelette, dearling!" said the
professor, who would not have called anybody "darling" for the world.
Then the reckless old gentleman proceeded to placidly sort the letters
lying on the breakfast-table, comfortably unconscious that little maids
"cometh up" on different fare from that of tough old veterans.
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