At home Jay Park hung the cage in his parents' bedroom. "This is your room from now on," he said to the mynah. The bird turned its head this way and that, surveying its new quarters critically, first with one large liquid eye and then with the other. "Well," said Jay Park. "How d'you like it?" For its answer the mynah made a rude noise. "That's not very polite," said Jay Park. "I ask you a civil question and I expect a civil answer. What do you think of your room?"

"It's a dump," said the mynah. Jay Park shook his head and sighed. He could see that he would have to educate the bird to say nice things instead of nasty ones. If he was always polite to it, surely it would learn by example? "Pardon me for asking," he said, "but what is your name?"

"Mind your own business," said the mynah. Jay Park smiled bravely. "My name's Park," he said. Then mynah laughed loudly. It was not a nice laugh. "Can you say that? Park . . . Park . . . Park."

"Ah, shut up!" said the mynah. Jay Park picked up the telephone that stood beside his late parents' bed and dialed the number of the pet shop. "Hello," he said. "I bought a mynah bird from you today."

"I'm sorry, sir," said the shopkeeper hastily, "but I can't possibly take him back. I've already paid your check into the bank."

"No, no," said Jay Park. "That's not why I'm calling. I simply forgot to ask you if he has a name."

"I called him a good many names," said the shopkeeper dryly, " and so will you, I expect." Jay Park put down the receiver. "That was the man at the pet shop," he said. "Stupid old twit," said the mynah. "Oh, I don't know. He seemed like a nice chap."

"Rubbish!" Jay Park began to feel that he had made a bad bargain. He had paid a great deal of money for this, his very first pet, attracted by its ability to speak as clearly as any human. Now, it seemed, he was condemned to putting up with its everlasting rudeness. If only it would say something reasonable. He tried again. "Tell me, what would you like me to call you?" he said. "Suit yourself," the bird said and turned its back on him. Jay Park considered what name you could give a bad-tempered, bad-mannered greater Indian hill mynah, and that brought into his mind the greatest of Indian hills - well, more than that, the highest mountain in the world. "How about 'Everest?' " he asked. He waited for the mynah to say "shut up" or "silly fool" or "stupid old twit," but it simply said, "OK." The tone of its voice was dispirited, as though it didn't much care what it was called, and a sudden thought struck Jay Park. Was the bird simply unhappy? Was this why it was always so surly? "Look, Everest," he said, "you've got plenty of good food - mealworms and a special mynah mixture that I bought from the pet shop - and some fresh fruit to peck at and clean water to drink and a handsome cage. What more do you want?"

"Use your brains," said Everest and, turing around, he began to hammer with his stout beak at the bage door. He wants to come out, thought Jay Park. "You want to come out?" he said. "You got it, Park," said Everest. So surprised was Jay Park to be addressed by name that without further thought he reached up and unlatched the door of the cage. The mynah hopped out and down onto his new owner's shoulder. Jay Park could see out of the corner of his eye that strong orange-red bill, and it looked very sharp. He stood stock-still, expecting to be rewarded with a vicious peck from this grumpy bird. Then to his great surprise he felt instead the gentlest of tugs at the lobe of his ear and heard the voice of his pet, sounding quite different from its usual harsh tones. "Thanks, Park," said Everest softly. "You're a pal." Jay Park positively beamed with pleasure. Living at home under the thumbs of his mother and father, he had never in all his twenty five years made any friends. Now at last, it seemed, he had one! And he found the reason for Everest's constant rudeness. All the bird wanted was a little bit of freedom, an occasional outing from the confines of his cage, a short flight around the room perhaps. No harm in that; he couldn't escape - the window was closed. Wasn't it? Jay Park turned his head and caught his breath. Then top part of the old-fashioned sash window was a little way open, six inches maybe. "Everest," he said. "Yes, Park?"

"How about popping back into your cage for a moment? There's something I've forgotten to do."

"So I see," said the mynah, and he jumped off Jay Park's shoulder and flew onto the top of the window frame. For a moment Everest perched there, turning his head for one last backward look. "Nice knowing you, Park," he said and was gone.