CHANTECLER Taste, my dear fellow, he unmistakably has! PATOU Ye-e-e-es! But not much taste! To wear black is too easy a way of having taste! One should have the courage of colours on his wing. CHANTECLER You will admit at least that he has an original fancy. No denying that he is amusing. PATOU Ye-e-es--No! Why is it amusing to adopt a few stock phrases and make them do service at every turn? Why amusing to miscall, exaggerate, and vulgarise? CHANTECLER His mind has a diverting, unexpected turn-- PATOU Ready but cheap! I cannot think it particularly brilliant to remark, with a knowing wink, at sight of an innocent cow at pasture, “The simple cow knows her way to the hay!” Nor do I regard it as evidence of notable mental gifts to answer the greeting of the inoffensive duck, “The quack shoots off his mouth!” No, the extravagances of that Blackbird, who makes me bristle, no more constitute wit than his slang achieves style! CHANTECLER He is not altogether to blame. He wears the modern garb. See him there in correct evening dress. He looks, in his neat black coat-- PATOU Like a beastly little undertaker who, after burying Faith, hops with relief and glee! CHANTECLER There, there! You make him blacker than he is! PATOU I do believe a blackbird is just a misfit crow! CHANTECLER His diminutive size, however-- PATOU [_Vigorously shaking his ears._] Oh, be not deceived by his size! Evil makes his models first on a tiny scale. The soul of a cutlass dwells in the pocket-knife; blackbird and crow are of the selfsame crape, and the striped wasp is a tiger in miniature! CHANTECLER [_Amused at_ PATOU’S _violence._] The blackbird in short is wicked, stupid, ugly-- PATOU The chief thing about the Blackbird is--that you can’t tell what he is! Is there thought in that head? feeling in that breast? Hear him! “Tew-tew-tew-tew tew--” CHANTECLER But what harm does he do? PATOU He tew-tew-tews! And nothing is so mortal to thought and sentiment as that same derisive tew-tewing, disingenuous and non-committal! Day by day, and that is why I roll my rs, I must witness this debasing of language and ideals. It’s enough to produce rabies! CHANTECLER Come, Patou!-- PATOU In their objectionable jargon, they have the ha-ha on all of us! I am no fastidious King Charles, but I dislike, I tell you, being referred to as His Whiskers!--Oh, to be gone, escape, follow the heels of some poor shepherd without a crust in his wallet, but at least, at evening drinking from the glassy pond, to have--oh, better than all marrow-bones!--the fresh illusion of lapping up the stars! CHANTECLER [_Surprised at_ PATOU’S _having lowered his voice to utter the last words._] Why do you drop your voice? PATOU You see?--If we speak of stars nowadays we must do it in a whisper! [_He lays his head on his paws in deep dejection._] CHANTECLER [_Comforting him._] Be not downcast!