“What kind of a husband would you like?” asked the Mayor, curiously.
“Well,” said Berty, drawing in a long breath of the crisp morning air. “I want a tall, slight man, with brown curly hair and gray eyes.”
“That’ll be a hard combination to find,” said her companion, grimly.
“Yes, but I shall think all the more of him when I find him, and he must be clever, very clever—ahead of all the men in his State, whichever State it happens to be—and he must have a perfect temper, because I have a very faulty one, and he must be of a noble disposition, and looked up to by every one he knows.”
“I never met that kind of a man,” said the Mayor, drily.
“Nor I,” said Berty, “but there must be such a man in the world.”
“How about Tom Everest?” asked Mr. Jimson. “I saw him looking at you last night.”
“Tom Everest!” exclaimed Berty, indignantly. “An insurance agent!”
The Mayor snickered enjoyably, then fell behind a step, for they had just reached the entrance of Milligan’s Wharf.
Berty was talking to some little girls who, even at this early hour, were hanging about the gate of the new park.