Between six and seven A. M. they seem to possess
the avenue, and resent my intrusion. I remember, one chilly
morning, when I came upon a flurry of them, chattering, quarreling,
skimming, and alighting just before me. I stopped at last, fearful
of stepping on the nearest. To my great surprise, instead of
flying away, he contested the ground inch by inch before my
advancing foot, with his wings outspread and open bill
outstretched, very much like that ridiculous burlesque of the
American eagle which the common canary-bird assumes when teased.
"Did you ever see 'em wash in the fountain in the square?" said
Roundsman 9999, early one summer morning. I had not. "I guess
they're there yet. Come and see 'em," he said, and complacently
accompanied me two blocks. I don't know which was the finer
sight,--the thirty or forty winged sprites, dashing in and out of
the basin, each the very impersonation of a light-hearted,
mischievous puck, or this grave policeman, with badge and club and
shield, looking on with delight. Perhaps my visible amusement, or
the spectacle of a brother policeman just then going past with a
couple of "drunk and disorderlies," recalled his official
responsibilities and duties.
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