As I took no offence, he repeated the remark.

"Oh, come," said I, "there's no use in trying to irritate me. I see
through you; a row acts like a cocktail on you--but you'll have to
stick to gruel in my company."

"I call that impudence!" he rasped out, wrathfully.

"I don't care what you call it," I replied, undisturbed, "I am not
going to be worried by you. Anyway," I ended, "it is my opinion that
you could be very good company if you chose."

The proposition appeared to take his breath away--at least, he said
nothing more; and I finished my cigar in peace and tossed the stump
into a saucer.

"Now," said I, "what price do you set upon your birds, Mr. Halyard?"

"Ten thousand dollars," he snapped, with an evil smile.

"You will receive a certified check when the birds are delivered," I
said, quietly.

"You don't mean to say you agree to that outrageous bargain--and I
won't take a cent less, either--Good Lord!--haven't you any spirit
left?" he cried, half rising from his pile of shawls.

His piteous eagerness for a dispute sent me into laughter impossible
to control, and he eyed me, mouth open, animosity rising visibly.