You came in your business suit!
CHANTECLER
Nay, my best! Pardon if my best combines merely the green of all April
with the gold of all October! I stand abashed. I am the Cock, just the
Cock, without further addition. The Cock such as he is still found in
some old-fashioned barnyard. A Cock shaped like a Cock, whose outline
persists in the vane on the steeple-top in the artist's eye, and the
humble toy which a child's hand finds among shavings in a little
wooden box.
AN IRONICAL VOICE
[_From among the group of gorgeous prodigies._] The Gallic Cock, in short?
CHANTECLER
[_Gently, without even turning._] Sure as I am of my aboriginal claim to
this soil, I make no point of assuming the name. But, now you mention
it, I recognise that when one simply says the Cock, that is the Cock
he means!
THE BLACKBIRD
[_Low to_ CHANTECLER.] I have seen your adversary!
CHANTECLER
[_Catching sight of the_ PHEASANT-HEN _approaching._] Be still! She must
know nothing of this!
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_Coquettishly._] Did you come for the sake of seeing me?
CHANTECLER
[_Bowing._] I am weak, you remember!
THE GUINEA-HEN
[_Listening to the_ COCHIN-CHINA COCK, _who is talking in an undertone,
thickly surrounded by_ HENS.] That Cock from Cochin China is
simply awful!
CHANTECLER
[_Turning._] Enough!
THE HENS
[_Around the_ COCHIN COCK, _giving little scandalised cries.
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