“Don’t play with that bird. Listen to me.”

“Call him Polly,” said Jack. They had named it Polly to be on the safe side.

“You don’t want to call him ‘that bird.’ The missus doesn’t love you, Poll.”

“Do you know, I don’t!” said Edna, with quite startling vehemence. “I don’t like him at all, Jack. Let’s give him away.”

“What? For heaven’s sake!” cried Jack. “This rare, black, specially hatched Poll? This parrot of romantic origin? The cleverest Poll that ever-”

“That’s it,” said Edna. “He’s too darned clever. Jack, I hate him. He’s horrible.”

“What? Has he said something you don’t like?” said Jack, laughing. “I bet he will, when he talks. But what’s the news, anyway?”

“Come inside,” said Edna. “I’m not going to tell you with that creature listening.” She led the way into the bedroom. “The news is,” said she, “that I’ve got to be humored. And if I don’t like anything, it’s got to be given away. It’s not going to be born with a beak because its mother was frightened by a hateful monstrosity of a parrot.”

“What?” said Jack.

“That’s what,” said Edna, smiling and nodding.

“A brat?” cried Jack in delight. “A boy! Or a girl! It’s bound to be one or the other. Listen, I was afraid to tell you how much I wanted one, Edna. Oh, boy! This is going to make everything very, very fine. Lie down. You’re delicate. Put your feet up. I’m going to fix dinner. This is practice. Stay still. Oh, boy! Oh, boy! Or girl, as the case may be!”

He went out through the living room on his way to the kitchen. As he passed the window, he caught sight of the parrot on the dark porch outside, and he put his head through to speak to it.

“Have you heard the news?” said he.