“I was going to say pretty,” remarked Margaretta, severely.
“Beautiful is stronger,” said Berty, calmly. “What a lovely view you have from this roof-garden, Margaretta. How it must tranquillize you to gaze at those trees and flower-beds when anything worries you.”
“Do go on, Berty—what did you do at the city hall?”
“A big policeman asked what I wanted. I thought of one of dear grandfather’s sayings, ‘Never deal with subordinates if you can get at principals,’ so I said, ‘I want to see your head man.’”
“That’s an African tribe expression, I think,” murmured Margaretta.
“Evidently, for he grinned and said, ‘Oh, the chief,’ and he opened the door of a private office”.
“Another big man sat like a mountain behind a table. He didn’t get up when I went in—just looked at me.”
“‘Are you over the police of this city?’” I asked.
“‘I am,’ he said.