'My goodness gracious!' said the gentleman, as the Phoenix, with
one last wriggle that melted into a flutter, got out of its nest in
the breast of Robert and stood up on the leather-covered table.

'What an extraordinarily fine bird!' he went on. 'I don't think I
ever saw one just like it.'

'I should think not,' said the Phoenix, with pardonable pride. And
the gentleman jumped.

'Oh, it's been taught to speak! Some sort of parrot, perhaps?'

'I am,' said the bird, simply, 'the Head of your House, and I have
come to my temple to receive your homage. I am no parrot'--its
beak curved scornfully--'I am the one and only Phoenix, and I
demand the homage of my High Priest.'

'In the absence of our manager,' the gentleman began, exactly as
though he were addressing a valued customer--'in the absence of our
manager, I might perhaps be able--What am I saying?' He turned
pale, and passed his hand across his brow. 'My dears,' he said,
'the weather is unusually warm for the time of year, and I don't
feel quite myself. Do you know, for a moment I really thought that
that remarkable bird of yours had spoken and said it was the
Phoenix, and, what's more, that I'd believed it.'

'So it did, sir,' said Cyril, 'and so did you.'

'It really--Allow me.'