Bird of Paradise Part 17

"Oh, Bertha!"

"Are you going to stay long to-day?"

"Yes, I am," said Clifford, taking up the book he had brought with him.

"As long as I can."

"Oh."

"How long can I?"

"Till dinner, or till anyone turns up that I want to talk to."

"Right-o! But you can send me into another room. I needn't go home, need I?"

She laughed.

"Oh, you silly boy! Of course not."

"I say, have you seen my report?" he asked gravely.

"Some of it. Your mother read out little bits."

"Which little bits?" he asked rather anxiously.

"Oh, the worst of course!" said Bertha. "The purple patches! You're a credit to the family, I don't think!"

"She asked me who was my nicest little friend at school," said Clifford.

"And what did you say?"

"I told her about Pickering. I say, Bertha, ... can I bring Pickering here?"

"Of course you can."

"May I give him a regular sort of invitation from you, then?"

"Yes, rather. Tell him that I and Percy ask him to come and live here from to-morrow morning for the rest of his natural life. Or, if that doesn't seem cordial enough, we'll adopt him as our only son."

"Oh no! I think that's too much."

"Is it? Well, make it from to-morrow afternoon. Or perhaps we'd better not be effusive; it wouldn't look well. So, instead of that, I'll invite him to go to the Zoological Gardens on Sunday fortnight for an hour, and you and he can have buns and tea at your own expense there. That's not too hospitable and gushing, is it?"

He laughed.

"You do look smart, Bertha!" he remarked. "Your shoes are always so frightfully right. I say, can't you tell mother to wear the same sort of shoes? And tell her to look narrower, and not have such high collars."

"My dear boy, your mother dresses beautifully," said Bertha. "What do you want her to look like?"

"I should like her to look like some of those little cards on cigarette boxes, or like a picture post-card, if you want to know," he admitted candidly.

"That's absurd, Cliff."

"But, Bertha, some of the fellows' mothers do."

"Remember your mother is _Percy's_ mother, too."

"Pickering's mother doesn't look much older than you," he replied.

"Oh--what a horrid woman!"

He smiled. "Why do you call her a horrid woman? For not looking older than you?"

"Oh! tell her to mind her own business, and not go interfering with me.

I shall look whatever age I choose without consulting her!" Bertha pretended to pout and be offended, and went on reading for a little while.

He took another chocolate and turned a page.

She did not ask to see the book.

"That's what I call so jolly about you," presently said Clifford. "When I come to see you, you don't keep asking me questions, or giving me things, or advice, or anything. You do what you like, and I do what I like--I mean to say, we both do just what we like."

"Yes; that's the way to be pleasant companions," said Bertha. "I go your way, and you go mine."

"How's Percy?" the boy asked presently.

"Percy's the same as usual. Only I fancy he seems a little depressed."

Presently Clifford looked up and said:

"Anyway, you'll think it over, Bertha; and see what you decide to do about asking Pickering?"

"Rather!" said Bertha, turning a page absently. "He's rather a wonderful chap, then?"

"Isn't he!"

"What sort?"

"What _sort_?" cried Clifford, dropping his book. "Why, Bertha, I was _with_ him, _actually with him_, when he went into the country post office and asked the woman if she would let him have small change for ten shillings, and he found he hadn't the half-sovereign then, but would pay her when he didn't see her again! And then he said if she wouldn't do that, he'd like to buy some stamps, and asked if she'd show him some to choose from. And then he said--I saw him do it--'I'll take those two in the middle--I like the colour.' When she said they were fivepence he said that was too expensive, and he couldn't run to it. And then he wanted to buy some sweets--they sell everything at those country shops--and she wrapped some up for him, and then he said he hadn't got a penny, and would she put it down to Lord Arthur's account--that's an uncle of his who didn't know anything about it, and hadn't got any account. And when she refused, fancy, Bertha! he asked if she'd take stamps, as she seemed fond of them, and when she said she would, he stamped twice on the floor and ran out of the shop, and I ran after him.

She _was_ angry!"

"He seems a useful boy."

"Rather! His people are frightfully rich, you know," went on Clifford.

"When they tease him about it at school, he says he's never allowed to use the same motor twice, and that they're made of solid gold! He chaffs everybody."

Clifford murmured on rather disjointedly, and Bertha read without listening much, occasionally making some remark, when the telephone rang.

Bertha had an extension on the little table next to her sofa.