Nibletts, however, declared that they were
"what you might call in the pink," and surmised that the train journey
had "put 'em off the lay, as you might say." If eating and fighting
were evidences of their being "in the pink," those birds must have
enjoyed exceptional health. They also slept well, I believe.
After about a month one enormous egg arrived--an egg that would not
have disgraced a young ostrich. Its huge dimensions worried my aunt.
She wondered if they were a symptom, and consulted Nibletts.
He put it down to the food. He said that kitchen scraps were "no good
for laying pullets." "That egg, lady," he said, "is what us fanciers
call--excuse me--" (I saw my aunt shudder in anticipation)--"a
bloomer. You must give 'em a lot more meal."
We bought a big sack of meal--through the medium of Nibletts. If I
remember rightly it cost rather more than the pullets.
Still no eggs. Then some of the hens went out of "the pink." For
instance, one developed a chronic habit of running centripetally
round a constantly diminishing circle, fainting on arriving at
the geometrical centre.
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