“Hello, Berty,” he said, “want some help with your pidgie widgies?”
“No, Roger,” she replied, disconsolately, “I can’t get the boxes up to-night. Still, you might help me cover them some more. I’m dreadfully afraid of rats getting at them. There are legions of them down here.”
“You’ve had some one here, haven’t you?” said Roger, hypocritically.
“Yes, that miserable Mayor, but he’s so disagreeable that I shan’t let him help me finish. I’m never going to speak to him again. He’s too mean to live.”
“I’ll come and help you,” said Roger, bending over the pigeons to conceal his face. “Where are these boxes going in the meantime?”
“Up on top of those barrels. Aren’t those fan-tails sweet? Oh, you lubbie dubbies, Berty loves you better than the hateful old Mayor.”
Roger laughed outright, helped his young sister-in-law at the same time, and wondered whether the breach between her and her new friend would be final.