"It looks very old," he said, trying to stroke its head and neck with a friendly gesture.

"You do well, indeed, in calling it Methuselah." As he spoke, the bird, alarmed at the vague consciousness of a hand and voice which it did not recognize and mindful of Tu-Kila-Kila's recent attack, made a vicious peck at the fingers outstretched to caress it.
"Take care!" the Frenchman cried, in a warning voice.

"The patriarch's temper is no longer what it was sixty or seventy years ago.

He grows old and peevish.

His humor is soured.