lly as possible over the battle-scarred side of
the _Vulture_, he took the parakeet gently out from under his
tricorne.

"A parakeet--as I _live_!" he shrilled, sounding very like a parakeet
himself. "My soul--what a prize!" he rattled on, entirely to himself
as it turned out, for the sailors were not at all interested in a pet.
Exhausted from the battle or drunk from captured wine, and all
despising the fastidious ways of Osterbridge Hawsey, they paid not the
slightest attention. They obeyed occasional orders from him, for they
knew they would be whipped by Claggett Chew if they did not, and so
hauled up the baskets of fruits and flowers, dumped them
unceremoniously in the Captain's cabin, and left as quickly as they
could to rejoin their shipmates on shore.

Holding the parakeet firmly, Osterbridge Hawsey tied a long silk cord
to its right leg, fastening the other end to the arm of his chair so
that he could closely observe his new pet.

Chris did not disappoint him. As the parakeet, he played the clown for
all he was worth. He strutted up and down, and bobbed his head
whenever Osterbridge Hawsey spoke, so that it appeared that the
brightly feathered bird was in constant agreement with his captor. Or
he would cock his head to one side as if weighing one of Osterbridge's
remarks, in a truly comical manner.

Looking about meanwhile with his black beady eyes, Chris saw that
Claggett Chew was lying in a bunk against one wall, nursing his left
leg which had been given a sword thrust in the fight. He was obviously
in pain and perhaps feverish, and Osterbridge Hawsey's childish talk
irritated and bored him so that he turned his face to the wall. Light
from the swinging lamp that Chris remembered from many weeks before
threw black hollows into Claggett Chew's eye sockets and deeply lined
face. Now and again he could be heard grinding his teeth at the pain
of his wound, but Osterbridge Hawsey, throwing his fine coat and
plumed hat to one side, lightheartedly amused himself by trying to
tempt his new pet with some fruit.

"Claggett!" he cried, as if Claggett Chew could possibly be interested
in a parakeet at that point, "do look at what I captured! This is my
very own spoils of war!" he crowed.

Claggett Chew made an impolite noise and said nothing. "Well,"
Osterbridge Hawsey gave a shrug as answer to the noise, "you know how
I _detest_ fighting. It is vulgar, messy, and noisy. I can imagine no
possible good word to say