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.' A bell was rung.

The porter appeared.
'Mackenzie,' said the gentleman, 'you see that golden bird ?' 'Yes, sir.' The other breathed a sigh of relief.
'It IS real, then ?' 'Yes, sir, of course, sir.