"Say, Phil," the boy of the pigeon loft called—he was a stout boy who made money out of everything—"I guess they ain't goin' to stay with you. You might as well sell out to me. I'll give you ten cents for the pair. I'm goin' to sell a bunch to the hotel on Saturday."
An insane desire to fight him took hold of Philip. He turned away without speaking.
At school that day he approached the pigeon boy and made the proposition that filled the boy with astonishment: "I'll give them to you, Jerry," he said, hurriedly, "if you promise not to kill them. It's all right! I guess I won't bother with pigeons—I think I'll get a dog —or something," he ended lamely.
Jerry was surprised, but being a business man he closed the deal on the spot. When Philip went home he put his pigeon book away.
There was a final entry, slightly smeared and very badly written:
They are ungrateful broots!
YOU NEVER CAN TELL
(Reprinted by permission of Saturday Night, Toronto.)
It was at exactly half-past three in the afternoon of a hot June day that Mrs. Theodore Banks became smitten with the idea. Mrs. Banks often said afterwards she did not know how she came to be thinking about the Convention of the Arts and Crafts at all, although she is the Secretary. The idea was so compelling that Mrs. Banks rushed down town to tell Mr. Banks—she felt she could not depend on the telephone.
"Ted," she cried, when she opened the door of the office, "I have an idea!"