THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_In wild alarm._] Heavens, they plotted his death?
THE BLACKBIRD
His decease, which is not nearly so bad.
THE PHEASANT-HEN
But--
THE BLACKBIRD
Don't smite your brow! In spite of the Screech-Owl's grave and
self-important tone, I shouldn't wonder if it all amounted to
very little.
THE PHEASANT-HEN
Those Owls--
THE BLACKBIRD
Are good enough in their various parts, but it's the old excessive style
of acting.
THE PHEASANT-HEN
I beg your pardon?
THE BLACKBIRD
Back numbers!
THE PHEASANT-HEN
Oh?
THE BLACKBIRD
They have eyelashes, fancy, all the way round their eyes! It's too much
of a good thing, really.--And that black plot, those desperately dark
designs, all that belongs to the year one; you can see moss growing
on its back!
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_Fluttering hither and thither feverishly._] I am never quite sure of
understanding when a person is talking in fun.
THE BLACKBIRD
[_Winking at her._] No flies on your acting!
THE PHEASANT-HEN
Surely you wouldn't be laughing if he were in danger? Those ruffians--?
THE BLACKBIRD
Prattlers! Wooden Swords! Knights of Hot Air!
THE PHEASANT-HEN
But Scops--?
THE BLACKBIRD
A stuffed Owl!
THE PHEASANT-HEN
And the Great Bubo--?
THE BLACKBIRD
Just two ten-candle-power lamps, to be turned on and off with a
switch,--crick-crack! And Flammeolus, two lamps likewise--but acetylene!
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_Bewildered by his imagery.
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