"Hello, sis!" says I. "Weepin' over your job so soon?"
"Shut up!" says she.
"Why, how pettish!" says I. "What was Piddie callin' you down for?"
"What's that to you?" says she. "Who are you, anyway?"
"Me?" says I. "Why, I'm the Corrugated's gen'ral grouch dispeller. I'm the official little ray of sunshine. See?" and I bobs my head so she can get a good view of my red thatch.
"Huh!" says she; but she can't help lettin' out a grin, so I sees the cure has begun.
"Don't you mind Piddie," says I. "He don't dare tie the can to you without reportin' higher up. He likes to make a noise like a watchdog, that's all. Next time you give him the merry chuckle."
And, honest, I'd done the same if she'd been wall-eyed and toggle-jointed, just for the sake of blockin' off his little game.
It wa'n't until a couple of days later, when she shoots over a casual flashlight look as I'm strollin' past, that I takes any partic'lar notice of what a Daisy Maizie she is. There's more or less class to her lines, all right, not to mention a pair of rollin' brown eyes. Course, I sends back the roguish wink, and by the end of the week we was callin' each other by our pet names.
Not that I'm entered reg'lar as a Percy boy, or that I takes this so serious as to miss any meals; but you know how it is. And what if she was a few years older? She seems to like it when I sing out, "Oh, you Theresa!" at her, and once she mussed up my hair when there wa'n't anybody lookin'. In fact, I was almost to the point of thinkin' that I'd been picked as somebody's honey boy when this Izzy Budheimer shows up as a late entry.