traffickers in birds, and which they fix cleverly into some unfortunate paroquet, previously mutilated for the purpose. Then they dye the suture, varnish the bird, and export to the museums and amateurs in Europe—the result of their industry.”
“Well, at any rate,” said Ned, “if you have not got the bird you have got his feathers; and so long as you don’t want to eat the animal it is no great matter.”
But if my wishes were satisfied in the possession of the bird of paradise, Ned’s were not so. Happily, during the afternoon he shot a magnificent wild pig, which the natives call “bari-outang.” This animal, came in very opportunely, and was welcomed accordingly. Ned Land was very proud of his shooting. The pig, touched by the electric bullet, had fallen dead on the instant.
The Canadian prepared him in workmanlike manner, after having taken some cutlets from him for our evening meal. Then the chase was resumed, which was further distinguished by the exploits of Conseil and Ned Land.
These two, by beating, roused a herd of kangaroo, which bounded away as actively as usual. But they did not fly so rapidly as the electric bullets, which checked their bounding career.
“Aha! Professor!” cried Ned, into whose head the sportsman’s passion for killing had mounted, “what excellent game, particularly stewed. What a provision for the Nautilus. Two, three, five head. And when I think that we are eating all this fresh meat, and the idiots on board have not a crumb———”
