Jane:
Oh, Bert, we're so frightened.
Bert:
Now, now, don't take on so. Bert will take care of you. Like I was your father. Now, who's after you?
Jane:
Father is.
Bert:
What?
Michael:
He brought us to see his bank.
Jane:
I don't know what we did, but it must have been something dreadful.
Michael:
He sent the police after us, and the army, and everything.
Jane:
Michael, don't exaggerate.
Bert:
Well now, there must be some mistake. Your dad's a fine gentleman and he loves you.
Jane:
I don't think so. You should have seen the look on his face.
Michael:
He doesn't like us at all.
Bert:
Well now, that don't seem likely, does it?
Jane:
It's true.
Bert:
Let's sit down. You know, begging your pardon, but the one my heart goes out to is your father. There he is, in that cold heartless bank day after day, hammed in by mounds of cold heartless money. I don't like to see any living thing caged up.
Jane:
Father in a cage?
Bert:
They makes cages of all sizes and shapes, you know. Bank-shaped, some of them, carpets and all.
Jane:
Father's not in trouble. We are.
Bert:
Oh. Sure about that, are you? Look at it this way. You've got your mother to look after you and Mary Poppins and Constable Jones and me. Who looks after your father? Tell me that. When something terrible happens, what does he do? Fends for himself, he does. Who does he tell about it? No one. Don't blab his troubles at home. He just pushes on at his job, uncomplaining and alone and silent.
Michael:
He's not very silent.
Jane:
Michael, be quiet. Bert, do you think father really needs our help?
Bert:
Well, it's not my place to say. I only observe that a father can always do with a bit of help. Come on, I'll take you home.
