Even before he had finished the berry they could see
the Ork begin to grow. In a few minutes he had regained
his natural size and was strutting before them, quite
delighted with his transformation.
"Well, well! What do you think of me now?" he asked
proudly.
"You are very skinny and remarkably ugly," declared
Pessim.
"You are a poor judge of Orks," was the reply. "Anyone
can see that I'm much handsomer than those dreadful
things called birds, which are all fluff and feathers."
"Their feathers make soft beds," asserted Pessim.
"And my skin would make excellent drumheads," retorted
the Ork. "Nevertheless, a plucked bird or a skinned Ork
would be of no value to himself, so we needn't brag of
our usefulness after we are dead. But for the sake of
argument, friend Pessim, I'd like to know what good you
would be, were you not alive?"
"Never mind that," said Cap'n Bill. "He isn't much good
as he is."
"I am King of this Island, allow me to say, and you're
intruding on my property," declared the little man,
scowling upon them.
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