“Go away, my good woman; go away at once. I cannot have you on the premises. I will set the dog on you if you don’t go away.”
“One minute, kind sir,” whined Jasper. “I have come to know if you have any fowls to sell. I want some fowls; old hens and cocks—not young pullets or anything of that sort. I want to buy them, sir, and I am prepared to give a good price.”
These extraordinary remarks aroused Mr. Leeson’s thoughtful attention. He had long been annoyed by the barn-door fowls, and they were decidedly old. He had often wished to dispose of them; they were too tough to eat, and they no longer laid eggs.
“If you will promise to take the fowls right away with you now, I do not mind selling them for a good price,” he said. “Are you prepared to give a good price? I wonder where my daughter is; she would know better than I what they are worth. Stand where you are, my good woman; do not attempt to move or the dog Pilot will fly at your throat. I will call my daughter.”
Mr. Leeson went into the house and shouted for Sylvia. Of course there was no answer.
“I forgot,” muttered Mr. Leeson. “Sylvia is out. Really that child over-exercises; such devotion to the open air must provoke unnecessary appetite. I wish that horrid gipsy would go away! How extraordinary that Pilot did not fly at her! But they say gipsies have great power over men and animals. Well, if she does give a fair price for the birds I may as well be quit of them; they annoy me a good deal, and some time, in consequence of them, some one may discover my treasure. Good heavens, how awful! The thought almost unmans me.”
Mr. Leeson therefore came out and spoke in quite a civil tone for him.
“If you will accompany me to the fowl-house I will show you the birds, but I may as well say at once that I won’t give them for a mere nothing, old as they are—and I should be the last to deceive you as to their age. They are of a rare kind, and interesting from a scientific point of view.”
“I do not know about scientific fowls,” replied the gipsy, “but I want to buy a few old hens to put into my pot.”
“Eh?” cried Mr. Leeson in a tone of interrogation. “Have you a recipe for boiling down old fowls?”
“Have not I, your honor! And soon they are done, too—in a jiffy, so to speak. But let me look at them, your honor, and I will pay you far more than any one else would give for them.”