CHAPTER XXXVI 
THE WHITE LEGHORN 
« HE best bird in the world,” was the verdict of a poultry- 
farmer who specialised in eggs. No doubt this burst 
of enthusiasm was caused as much by the favourable 
complexion of his balance-sheet as by anything else, for in poultry- 
farming as in any other industry one is influenced, consciously 
or unconsciously, by financial considerations, and in any event 
one must bow to the truth of the epigram that handsome is as 
handsome does. 
Apart from monetary matters, the White Leghorn is an engaging 
fowl. The cockerel is a fine, bold, sprightly bird, full of beans 
and capable of holding his own anywhere. His huge red serrated 
comb, his dandified walk, his masterly strut, his upright carriage 
are all part of his native equipment. He also has the instincts 
of a gentleman and will seldom touch food till he sees his harem 
well under way. His tail, with great flowing sickles, curving like 
sprigs of ivory flowers, adds to the picturesqueness of his appear- 
ance. A noble bird, full of the joy of life, crowing like a conqueror 
at three months of age and a potential father at four months, he 
is one of Nature’s quickest growths from infancy to maturity. One 
can tell his sex often within a week of birth, generally at a fortnight 
and invariably at a month. He is the sort who does not hide his 
light under a bushel. He seems to know that he is a masterpiece of 
nature, and he at once assumes his lordship over all. A pretty 
fellow, too, he knows his powers of attraction as he sidles up with 
wing trailing on the ground to one of the other sex. He is one 
of the lower animals that makes love gallantly. Never far away 
from the flock, he calls to them when he finds anything worth 
eating—a tasty tit-bit—and nothing pleases him better than to 
stand in the midst of his harem while they do justice to the good 
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