The A-----s are coming, and they bore me to death."
"Why do you ask him?" I suggested.
"Upon my word, I really don't know," he replied.
But to return to our rooks. We were speaking of their social
instincts. Some dozen of them--the "scallywags" and bachelors of
the community, I judge them to be--have started a Club. For a month
past I have been trying to understand what the affair was. Now I
know: it is a Club.
And for their Club House they have chosen, of course, the tree
nearest my bedroom window. I can guess how that came about; it was
my own fault, I never thought of it. About two months ago, a single
rook--suffering from indigestion or an unhappy marriage, I know not-
-chose this tree one night for purposes of reflection. He woke me
up: I felt angry. I opened the window, and threw an empty
soda-water bottle at him. Of course it did not hit him, and finding
nothing else to throw, I shouted at him, thinking to frighten him
away. He took no notice, but went on talking to himself. I shouted
louder, and woke up my own dog. The dog barked furiously, and woke
up most things within a quarter of a mile. I had to go down with a
boot-jack--the only thing I could find handy--to soothe the dog.
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