“Out with the pigeons,” she said. “There is no room in my house for guests who make fun of each other.”
“But the supper?” said Roger, anxiously.
“It would grieve Berty’s hospitable heart for you to miss that,” said Grandma, “so when you have quite finished your laughing, come up-stairs again, and we will all have a nice time together.”
Tom gave Roger a thwack, then, as he found himself in a latticed porch, and contemplated by a number of mild-faced, inquiring pigeons, he dropped on a box and began to snicker again.
“What set you off?” asked the old lady, curiously.
They both began to tell her of poor Berty’s trials with the Mayor.
Grandma laughed too. “There is something funny about that friendship,” she said, “but there is no harm, but rather good in it, and I shall not put a stop to it. Do you know that man would make a good husband for your sister, Tom Everest?”
Tom at this became so silly, and began to pound Roger on the back in such an idiotic manner, that Grandma gently closed the door and stole away.
Going up the steps, she could hear them laughing—now in Homeric fashion. There were no women about to be startled by their noise.