“A man,” I said—“an old farmer, if I remember rightly—had read a lot of parrot stories, or had heard them at the club. As a result he thought he would like himself to be the owner of a parrot, so journeyed to a dealer and, according to his own account, paid rather a long price for a choice specimen. A week later he re-entered the shop, the parrot borne behind him by a boy. ‘This bird,’ said the farmer, ‘this bird you sold me last week ain’t worth a sovereign!’ ‘What’s the matter with it?’ demanded the dealer. ‘How do I know what’s the matter with the bird?’ answered the farmer. ‘What I tell you is that it ain’t worth a sovereign—’tain’t worth a half a sovereign!’ ‘Why not?’ persisted the dealer; ‘it talks all right, don’t it?’ ‘Talks!’ retorted the indignant farmer, ‘the damn thing talks all day, but it never says anything funny!’” “A friend of mine,” said the Philosopher, “once had a parrot—” “Won’t you come into the garden?” said the Woman of the World, rising and leading the way. V “MYSELF,” said the Minor Poet, “I read the book with the most intense enjoyment. I found it inspiring—so inspiring, I fear I did not give it sufficient attention. I must read it again.” “I understand you,” said the Philosopher. “A book that really interests us makes us forget that we are reading. Just as the most delightful conversation is when nobody in particular appears to be talking.” “Do you remember meeting that Russian man George brought down here about three months ago?” asked the Woman of the World, turning to the Minor Poet. “I forget his name. As a matter of fact, I never knew it. It was quite unpronounceable and, except that it ended, of course, with a double f, equally impossible to spell. I told him frankly at the beginning I should call him by his Christian name, which fortunately was Nicholas. He was very nice about it.” “I remember him distinctly,” said the Minor Poet. “A charming man.” “He was equally charmed with you,” replied the Woman of the World. “I can credit it easily,” murmured the Minor Poet. “One of the most intelligent men I ever met.” “You talked together for two hours in a corner,” said the Woman of the World. “I asked him when you had gone what he thought of you. ‘Ah! what a talker!’ he exclaimed, making a gesture of admiration with his hands. ‘I thought maybe you would notice it,’ I answered him. ‘Tell me, what did he talk about?’ I was curious to know; you had been so absorbed in yourselves and so oblivious to the rest of us. ‘Upon my word,’ he replied, ‘I really cannot tell you. Do you know, I am afraid, now I come to think of it, that I must have monopolised the conversation.’ I was glad to be able to ease his mind on that point. ‘I really don’t think you did,’ I assured him. I should have felt equally confident had I not been present.”