Two mornings later, Roger had come down to River Street with a basket of green stuff for Grandma.
One result of his wife’s new economy was that he had turned errand-boy. He grumbled a little about it, but Margaretta was inexorable.
“You want me to save,” she said. “I’m going to do it. You can just as well run down to River Street before you go to your office, as for me to give a boy ten cents for doing it.”
“Ten cents is a paltry sum.”
“Yes, but ten tens are not paltry, and if you save ten cents twenty times you have two dollars. Now trot along!” and Roger always trotted, smiling as he went.
On this particular morning, Grandma, after gratefully receiving the basket, stood turning over the crisp, green lettuce, the parsley, beets, and lovely flowers with her slender fingers, when Berty appeared fresh and rosy.
“Oh, Roger, dear,” she cried, flying to her writing-desk when she saw him, “wait a moment and take a note to the city hall, will you?”
“Yes, Miss Lobbyist,” said her brother-in-law, good-naturedly.
“Why, this is to the Mayor,” he said, in pretended surprise, when she handed him her note.
“Yes, why not?” asked Berty, opening her eyes wide.