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Show Jeffries, Section 3, Page 23 came the Grand Pooh-bah and his entourage, a sericeous oiliness. He clipped the Herald's story on the pigeon and sent it to Row. With details of the princely reward. The Pan- Arab Inaugural World Classic, and the little racer, goofed up by the doldrums, reading bad weather, had perhaps gone down. 'My champion, ' the sheik had been quoted, 'high-strung, nervous, yet a quick adventuresome intelligence, not your ordinary city pigeon,' he'd cautioned, 'but the Amelia Earhart of pigeons, though a male, of course.' Those wild or rather independent families isolated out on Bamboo Key, Dory thought, could at this moment be roasting that bird. Like on the SRA cards, where that Dutch sailor, on the trip home from Indonesia during the tulip craze, put that half-million dollar stud tulip bulb on a sandwich, thinking the bulb was an onion. A $500,000 onion. Row answered that if the champion was angered enough by the teaser males he would make his way home. Having seen them put the suitors in with his little Penelope. Then she asked if he knew how the messenger pigeons of the Moslem world were brought down by the crusaders from their little crusader castles. Relative to a hobby that was all the rage at that time. Well of course it was hawks. You might ask the man o'war bird, towering, she'd said, what he's seen. . . |