94 TROPIC DAYS 



overturned none too politely; the squeaking chicks 

 vanished in the grass and remained discreetly silent; 

 the irate hen, with the valour of ignorance and all 

 feathers on end, flew in the face of the startled bull. 

 Though a white leghorn, she has fighting blood in her 

 veins, and as she hurled herself stuttering with 

 frantic exclamations at the violator of her home, he 

 backed with a mirth-provoking look of surprise and 

 dismay. He seemed to wish to say that he regretted 

 the intrusion, and would apologise and ask permission 

 to retire. The hen was not in the mood to accept 

 apologies, however seemly the cringing attitude of the 

 bull. Making herself ever so much bigger than Nature 

 intended, she followed up her advantages, slapping 

 her enemy's face with widespread wings until he winced 

 again, and clawing with truly feminine extravagance 

 and uncertainty of aim. The first round was all to 

 the credit of the hen, and the startled poultry cackled 

 derisively as the bull retreated. Sure of victory, the 

 hen followed him up, skipping, flapping, clawing, and 

 scolding as only an irate hen in transports of rage can. 

 Still the bull backed. He was a gentleman, and genu- 

 inely afraid of female tantrums. With half-shut eyes, 

 he submitted to the buffets of the wings, while en- 

 couraging remarks from friends and companions further 

 excited the delirious pugnacity of "Scotty." Then 

 it seemed to dawn on him that honour was at stake. 

 Gallantry forbade him to do violence to a lady; honour 

 forbade him to run away. What other recourse was 

 open ? He must treat the whole episode as a joke. 

 So, rubbing his muzzle on the ground, he invited the 

 hen to come on. She did so. There was a splash of 

 outspread feathers against his front and more clatter 

 than ever. He pawed the ground, jerking little clods 

 over his shoulders, and, lowering his head, menaced 



