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Nance told herself rapturously. There was a flurry in the wings above and the chorus overflowed down the stairs. "It's a capacity house," gasped Birdie, "but a regular cold-storage plant. We never got but one round. Spagetti is having spasms." "What's a round?" demanded Nance, but nobody had time to enlighten her.
I recollect his promise about the pancake receipt, and I thinks I will persuade it from Miss Willella and give it to him; and then if I catches Birdie off of Mired Mule again, I'll make him hop the twig.
When the hard rolls and strong tea which composed their lunch had been disposed of, Nance curled herself luxuriously on the foot of the bed and munched chocolate creams, while Birdie, in a soiled pink kimono that displayed her round white arms and shapely throat, lay stretched beside her. They found a great deal to talk about, and still more to laugh about.
Demry and patiently tried to explain that she was spending the night with Birdie Smelts; he remembered Birdie used to live across the hall from him? She was coming home in the morning. She would explain everything to Mrs. Snawdor. She promised she would. Mr. Demry, partly reassured, relaxed his grasp. "Who is this young man, Nancy?" he asked childishly. "Tell me his name." "It's Mr.
Close-up scenes were made, showing Birdie Lee and Miss Shay fighting off their Confederate admirers. Then came the turn in the battle where the Southern force had to give way. "Burn the house, boys!" cried their officer; and this would be flashed on the screen later as a lead.
And look at your hands! Why, they couldn't pay me enough to have my hands scarred up like that!" "It ain't my hands that's worryin' me," said another girl. "It's my feet. Say, the destruction on your shoes is somethin' fierce! You orter see this here room some nights at closin' time; it's that thick with glass you don't know where to step." "I'd know," said Birdie.
One pleasant morning little Birdie might have been seen sitting quietly on the grass-plat at the side of his mother's house, looking very earnestly at the rose-bushes. It was quite early; great Mr. Sun, who is such an early riser in summer time, had not been up very long; the birds were just beginning to chirp their "good-mornings" to each other; and as for the flowers, they were still asleep.
'What do you suggest, Birdie? The fondling name was not very appropriate, and had not been used of late; Carnaby hit upon it in the honeymoon days, when he said that his wife was like some little lovely bird, which he, great coarse fellow, had captured and almost feared to touch lest he should hurt it. Hugh had not much originality of thought, and less of expression.
"Sh . . . Sh! . . . Hush!" cried Stinging Beetle; when all were silent she screwed up one eye and said: "Do you know what, Annushka, my birdie . . . ? There is no need for you to get married really like every one else. You're rich and free, you are your own mistress; but yet, my child, it doesn't seem the right thing for you to be an old maid.
I'd trust my girl to know what was sense, and what was nonsense," declared Mother Fisher crisply, and not taking off her attention in the slightest from Baby's petticoats. "Ar-goo ar-goo!" screamed little King. "So we would wouldn't we, Birdie?" she said, nodding at him.
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