Mrs. Tree talked
on easily, asking questions about the roads he traveled and the people
he met. He answered briefly. Suddenly close at hand a voice spoke.
"Old friends!"
The man started to his feet, white as the napkin he held.
"It's only a parrot! Sit down again. There he is at your elbow. Jocko is
his name. He does my swearing for me. My grandson and a friend of his
taught him that, and I have taught him a few other things besides. Good
Jocko! Speak up, boy!"
"Old friends to talk; old books to read; old wine to drink! Zooks!
Hooray for Arthur and Will! they're the boys!"
"That was my grandson and his friend. What's the matter? Feel faint,
hey?"
"Yes, I am--faint. I must get out into the air."
"Nothing of the sort! You'll come upstairs and lie down."
"No! no! not in this house. Never! never!"
"Cat's foot! Don't talk to me! Here! give me your arm! Do as I say!
There!"
And as they passed up the stairway the parrot cried, "Old friends!" And
Direxia said, "I'm going to loose the bulldog, Mis' Tree, and Deacon
Weight says he'll be over in two minutes.
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