"Oh, he is such a nice little boy,
When there's nothing you do to annoy;
But he's apt to stand aloof
If you arsk him for the oof,
And it's then that he looks coy.
Oh, he'll show the cloven hoof,
If you put him to the proof.
When you want him to hand you the boodle
He's not such a nice little boy.
"Yes, dickee, I see you!"
The canary, persuaded by Poppy's song that it was broad daylight, was awake and splashing in his bath. Again in Poppy's mind (how unnecessarily) he stood for the respectabilities and proprieties; he was an understudy for Tiny of the dirty tea-gown.
"Going?"
"Yes. I must go."
"Wait." She rose and held him by the collar of his coat, a lapel in each small hand. He grasped her wrists by an instinctive movement of self-preservation, and gently slackened her hold. She gave his coat a little shake. "What's the matter with you, Rickets? You're such a howling swell."
Her eyes twinkled in the old way, and he smiled in spite of himself.
"Say, I'm a little nuisance, Rickets, say I'm a little nuisance."
"You are a little nuisance.
"A d——d little nuisance."