"Oh, don't be a fool," replied Adams. "Rare bird, indeed! Why, they are just as common in California as any other pigeon! I could have brought a hundred of them from San Francisco, if I had thought of it." "But why did you not think of it?" I asked, with a suppressed smile. "Because they are _so common_ there," said Adams. "I did not think they would be any curiosity here. I have eaten them in pigeon-pies hundreds of times, and shot them by the thousand!" I was ready to burst with laughter to see how readily Adams swallowed the bait, but maintaining the most rigid gravity, I replied: "Oh well, Mr. Adams, if they are really so common in California, you had probably better take them, and you may write over and have half a dozen pairs sent to me for the Museum." "All right," said Adams; "I will send over to a friend in San Francisco, and you shall have them here in a couple of months." I told Adams that, for certain reasons, I would prefer to change the label so as to have it read: "Golden Pigeons from Australia." "Well, call them what you like," replied Adams; "I suppose they are probably about as plenty in Australia as they are in California." I fancied I could discover a sly smile lurking in the eye of the old bear-hunter as he made this reply. The pigeons were labeled as I suggested, and this is how it happened that the Bridgeport non-believing lady, mentioned in the next chapter, was so much attracted as to solicit some of their eggs in order to perpetuate the species in old Connecticut. Six or eight weeks after this incident, I was in the California Menagerie, and noticed that the "Golden Pigeons" had assumed a frightfully mottled appearance. Their feathers had grown out, and they were half white. Adams had been so busy with his bears that he had not noticed the change. I called him up to the pigeon cage, and remarked: "Mr. Adams, I fear you will lose your Golden Pigeons; they must be very sick; I observe they are turning quite pale!" Adams looked at them a moment with astonishment; then turning to me, and seeing that I could not suppress a smile, he indignantly exclaimed: "Blast the Golden Pigeons! You had better take them back to the Museum. You can't humbug me with your painted pigeons!" This was too much, and "I laughed till I cried" to witness the mixed look of astonishment and vexation which marked the "grizzly" features of old Adams. "These Golden Pigeons," I remarked, "are very common in California, I think I heard you say? When do you expect my half-dozen pairs will arrive?" "You go to thunder, you old humbug!" replied Adams, as he marched off indignantly, and soon disappeared behind the cages of his grizzly bears.