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'Anythin' at all, marm, we're nearly starvin', Anything to hel-l-lp the bummers on their wa-ay, We are three bums an' jolly good chums, An' we live like Royal Turks, An' with good luck we bum our chuck, An' it's a fool of a man wot works." Just as Sunny was about to begin the next verse Bill appeared in the doorway, and the vocalist was reduced to a pained silence by his harsh criticism.
"Hel-l-lp!" came a faint answering cry from the other end of the ledge. David jumped through the thicket. A pitiful sight met his eyes. There was the Phoenix, dangling by one foot from the snare, its wings feebly struggling and its free foot clawing the air. The feathers of its wings and tail were singed. Great beads of sweat rolled from its forehead into a puddle on the ground below.
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