“You’re ‘bug,’” he declared roughly. “I tell you, Zip’s kids ain’t nothin’ to do with me––”
“Which, I’d say, was lucky for them,” cried Birdie airily.
“An’ I’d jest like to say that when a genelman gits around to do the perlite by a no-account mutton-worrier, he figgers to be treat right––”
Birdie turned on him with cold eyes.
“I’ll sure be treatin’ you right,” she said, “when I tell you that door don’t need shuttin’ after you. It’s on the swing.”
She did not wait to witness her guest’s departure. She felt it would not be graceful, under the circumstances. So, pushing her head into the cupboard, she once more gathered up her work.
When the soft swish of the swing-door told her that Sandy’s departure had been taken, she emerged with her bundle and spread it out on the table for the third time. She was all smiles. She was not a bit angry with the foolish widower. This dogmatic attitude of mind, this wonderful self-satisfaction, were peculiar to the creature; he couldn’t help it. But it had roused a mischievous spirit in her, and the temptation was too great to resist. The only thing she regretted was having let him kiss her, and she at once put up her hand to wipe the spot where the operation had been performed. At any rate, she had certainly taken him down a peg or two, and the thought set her in high good-humor.
Nor could she help wondering at his stupidity in imagining she couldn’t see through his desire for information about children. It was laughable, coming after Toby’s. Oh, these men! They were dear, foolish creatures. Poor kids, she thought, her mind reverting to Zip’s twins. What had they done to have this pack of foolish people worrying over them? Were they all going to take a hand in bringing the youngsters up? Well, anyhow, she pitied them.
She smiled at her thoughts as the busy scissors snipped their way round the pattern. These men were too funny. First Toby, now Sandy––who next?
She started and looked up, her scissors poised in the air. The swing-door had swished open, and Wild Bill stood before her.