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Updated: June 17, 2025
And little Tweetie Gregg had not lowered her voice or her laugh when she spoke that afternoon of Mary Gowd's absurd English fringe and her red wrists above her too-short gloves. "How much?" asked Mary Gowd. He named a figure. She laughed. "More much more!" He named another figure; then another. "You will put it down on paper," said Mary Gowd, "and sign your name to-morrow."
However, having thus arranged matters, Miss Pratt did not resign the center of interest, but herself proposed a compromise: she would continue to feed Mr. Bullitt and Mr. Watson "every other tweetie" that is, each must agree to eat a cake "all by him own self," after every cake fed to him. So the comedietta went on, to the running accompaniment of laughter, with Mr. Bullitt and Mr.
"Fifteen years," answered Mary Gowd. Henry D. Gregg took his cigar from his mouth and regarded it thoughtfully. "Well, that's quite a spell. Must like it here." Mary Gowd said nothing. "Can't say I'm crazy about it that is, as a place to live. I said to Mother last night: 'Little old Batavia's good enough for Henry D. Of course it's a grand education, travelling, especially for Tweetie.
"Oh, Miss Gowd," pouted Tweetie, "it's too bad you haven't a telephone. You see, we shan't need you to-day." "No?" said Miss Gowd, and glanced at Blue Cape. "No; Signor Caldini says it's much too perfect a day to go poking about among old ruins and things." Henry D. Gregg cleared his throat and took up the explanation.
She glared at the silent Mary Gowd. There was a strange little glint in Mary Gowd's eyes, and the grim line was there about the mouth again, grimmer than it had been in the morning. "You will excuse me?" she said. "I am very tired. I will say good night." "And I," announced Caldini. Mary Gowd turned swiftly to look at him. "You!" said Tweetie Gregg.
As they were returning to the carriages after inspecting the Baths of Caracalla, Tweetie even skipped ahead and slipped her hand for a moment into Mary Gowd's. "You're simply wonderful!" she said almost shyly. "You make things sound so real. And and I'm sorry I was so nasty to you yesterday at Tivoli." Mary Dowd looked down at the glowing little face.
By two P.M. Thursday Tweetie had bought a pair of long, dangling earrings, a costume with a Roman striped collar and sash, and had learned to loll back in her cab in imitation of the dashing, black-eyed, sallow women she had seen driving on the Pincio.
Funny, I always thought the fruit in Italy was regular hothouse stuff thought the streets would just be lined with trees all hung with big, luscious oranges. But, Lord! Here we are at the best hotel in Rome, and the fruit is worse than the stuff the pushcart men at home feed to their families little wizened bananas and oranges. Still, it's grand here in Rome for Tweetie.
We had moving pictures at the club showing how they're torn from the mother birds. No daughter of mine " "I don't care!" retorted Tweetie. "They're perfectly stunning; and I'm going to have them." And she had them not that the aigret incident is important; but it may serve to place the Greggs in their respective niches.
Well, even though I am English I know how frightful my hat is." "You're a smart woman," said Henry D. Gregg. "Not smart enough," retorted Mary Gowd, "or I shouldn't be here." The two stood up as Tweetie came toward them from the lift. Tweetie pouted again at sight of Mary Gowd, but the pout cleared as Blue Cape, his arrangements completed, stood in the doorway, splendid hat in hand.
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