It Takes a Man to Appreciate a Canary. At Our Village Cage Bird Society's Show

We are a progressive lot in our village and though we had no idea that we possessed a Caged Bird Society until we saw in the Blue Boar a notice of its first Annual Show, we evinced interest, but no surprise. Certainly we took careful note of the fact that, when the judging was over, admission would be free, and free entertainment being all too rare we turned up in force.

 The room over the Blue Boar resounded with twitterings, and row after row of cages revealed canaries hopping, posings, or merely registering boredom, to me canaries were only yellow birds in cages, and I found that this view was shared by the bulk of the housewifes, whose conversation was confined to such remarks as "That's pretty," or "Ain't that a big one?” with the frequent aside of: “Ain't it ‘ot up here!".

 But the men folk made up for us; to them this was a serious matter and they spoke as those having authority. Two of our largest inhabitants drew up before a set of three cages containing, to my eye, identical birds. Silently they regarded them and then the fatter, pointing with a large thumb, laid down the law

 “That there has got first prize, but the middle one's the better bird." 

"Ah!" said his friend, doubtfully. 

"Better shape he is,” continued the fat man, with emphasis. 

"Ah?" said the friend again. 

The fat man turned on him aggressively, and he hedged. 

"Both nice birds, they are," he said and promptly changed the subject by pointing at a strangely mottled bird beyond, which appeared to be the first man's exhibit. ‘They moved heavily on, and took up a position in front of it, regarding it from all angles.

“Plenty big enough," said the friend, on a note of query. 

“Plenty big enough," retorted the fat men, fiercely. “There ain't no big ‘eads now, there ain't, Big ‘eads is wiped clean out.” 

He gestured widely and one saw big ads falling in their thousand beneath the guillotine. Again they contemplated the mottled bird, and the fat man began slowly: "You remember ‘is mother.” The other did, and settling firmly on their feet, they passed to reminiscence of the bird's ancestry, its relations and thence to general discussion of the breeding industry. The gangway being thus effectively blocked, I crossed the room to where budgerigars and other alien looking birds were waiting, Here again, broad backed experts stood firm, talking a strange tongue. 

One man turning the scale easily at sixteen stone, pointed a reproachful finger at an infinitesimal bird.

“She's got some timber on her," he accused. Her owned fired up in reply “But no surplus, She's a nice shape, she is.“ He ran a finger gently along the wire, soothing the ruffled feelings of his bird, and crooned at her: 

"A very nice ‘ead she's got.” 

The bird chirped in reply and he smiled as if relieved. 

The room grew hotter still, and I made for the exit, but was stopped by an old man who drew me to one solitary cage.

“Only a penny," he said, “If you guess his name, you win him,“ I hastily paid a penny, and guessed "“George”, but as I dropped in my slip, my glance fell on a notice “Cage not included.” 

Now supposing tonight an out size in bird fancier appears on my doorstep with George, without cage, what is the right thing to do?