"Hullo, Jimmy, what makes you so late?" said someone in the room.
"We're waiting to hear the finish of all that trouble about your bird
at home. Stolen any more of your wife's jewellery? Come in, and let's
hear all about it."

"Oh, give him time," said another. "Can't you see his brain's busy
inventing something new to tell us!"

"Inventing, you say!" exclaimed Jimmy, with affected anger. "There's no
need to do that! That there bird does tricks nobody would think of."

Here the person sitting next to me, speaking low, informed me that this
was Jimmy Jacob, the sweep, that he owned a pet jackdaw, known to every
one in the village, and supposed to be the cleverest bird that ever
was. He added that Jimmy could be very amusing about his bird.

"I'd already begun to feel curious about that bird of yours," I said,
addressing the sweep. "I'd like very much to hear his history. Did you
take him from the nest?"

"Yes, Jim," said the man next to me. "Tell us how you came by the bird;
it's sure to be a good story."

Jimmy, having found a seat and had a mug of beer put before him, began
by remarking that he knew someone had been interesting himself in that
bird of his. "When I went home to tea this afternoon," he continued,
"my missus, she says to me: 'There's that bird of yours again,' she
says."