“Yes, it is a pity,” she replied, with hanging head, “but believe me, Dicky, I can’t help it. I had to steal so much in my early life that I can’t keep from it now—please go on with your story.”
“Well, Susan and Slow-Boy are of course mated for life, for pigeons rarely change partners. They are very happy together, and only quarrel enough to keep things from getting stupid.
You know, don’t you, that pigeons lay all the year round, if they can get food?”
“Oh, yes, Dicky, I know that. I should think they would get tired of raising families, but the Bronx pigeons only hold up in moulting time.”
“Now this Red-Boy I am going to tell you about,” I went on, “was one of their July pigeons of two years ago. Chummy told me the story, for of course I wasn’t here then. He says Red-Boy was a nice enough bird, but he took for a mate a very flighty half-breed fantail, called Tiptoe, from her mincing walk. You probably know, Billie, that when thoroughbred pigeons get mixed with street pigeons they lose all their fancy lines, and go right back to common ancestor blue rock dove traits.”
“Yes, I know,” said Billie; “but if they keep any fancy ways, or feathers, they are very proud of them.”
“Exactly,” I said, “so you can imagine how Tiptoe diddled about, putting on airs, before poor Susan, who is very plain-looking and has lost every trace of blue blood, except the half homer stripes on her solid old back. Now,
when the time came for Red-Boy and Tiptoe to make a nest, Red-Boy wanted to build near his father and mother.
“Slow-Boy fought him and tried to get rid of him. He is a model father when his squabs come and when they turn to squeakers, but when they are grown up he naturally supposes that they will go out into the world and let him be free to bring up other young ones.”
“I suppose his mother had spoiled him,” said Billie. “Hen pigeons are often weak in the head.”