Read Online THE HONOR GIRL by Grace Livingston Hill - Free Book Online
Authors: Grace Livingston Hill
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younger brother. “Well, why don’t we have some music?” He strolled toward the long-neglected piano, and opened it. Sitting down, he began to play a modern popular piece and to chant in a deep, not unmusical bass, some unintelligible words, whose main object seemed to be to crowd into the rhythm with remarkable speed.
The father dozed in his chair; awoke, looked around again with tears in his eyes; dozed again dreaming of his dead wife; and the boys sang on for some time.
At last Jack closed the piano and got up. He couldn’t play much but chords, but he bluffed the rest, and really managed to get quite a bit of pleasure out of it.
“Gee!” he said wistfully, yawning and looking at his watch. “Gee! I wish we had a sister or something in the house! Now I s’pose we’ve got to crawl up to that old hole and get some sleep. I’ve a notion to lie here on the floor tonight. I get a nightmare up in my room sometimes just thinking how it looks.”
“Don’t turn on the light,” suggested his brother; “then you can’t see.”
“H’m! You don’t know what you’re talking about. I couldn’t find the bed without a light; the floor’s knee-deep with junk. Well, so long! I’m going to hit the hay. All this excitement’s bad for a working man.”
Jack slowly, reluctantly ascended the stairs, putting his hand affectionately on the old bannister. The top quivered under his grasp, toppled an instant, and fell crashing to the floor.
As if he had hurt a child, the boy hastened back, picked it up, examined the difficulty, hunted up the hammer which he remembered to have seen on the pantry shelf, and drove the nails securely into place again. Then he went upstairs without more ado.
Chapter 6
E ugene took the evening paper from his coat pocket, and settled down to read a few minutes, but it was not quiet overhead. Jack’s footsteps had paused for a moment on the upper landing with that queer, indefinable breathlessness that both boys felt when they first entered the house that evening, and then started excitedly from room to room on the second floor. The noisy footsteps pounded up the third-story stairs, and there was a moment’s quiet, a long moment during which Eugene began to read the athletic scores of the day. Suddenly Jack’s feet were heard again clattering down the stairs.
“Say, Gene! Come up here!” he shouted excitedly before he had reached the second-story landing. There was something in his tone that brought his brother up three steps at a time.
It was to the bathroom shining in its purity that Jack first led his brother. The tub white as enamel could be, the faucets bright, the soap dish immaculate, the floor so clean the pattern of the old linoleum could be seen again, and the towel-racks literally overflowing with white, luxurious towels!
It was at those towels that the brothers gazed longest, reaching out to feel them, unfolding one to see its length and breadth. They had so long used little, inadequate affairs of doubtful character that a bath had become an unpleasant necessity rather than a pleasure.
“Some class!” murmured Eugene rapturously. “I believe I’ll take a bath! Say, I’d like to know who the fairy is that has touched this house with her magic wand while we were away.”
“Just wait till you see!” exclaimed Jack, gripping his brother’s shoulder and whirling him about face.
Eugene stood in his own room doorway, and looked about dazed. The clean white bed, the dainty bureau-scarf, the cleared-up appearance, was almost unbelievable. Something softening came over his face, which was inclined to be cynical.
“Goodnight!” he said at last softly. “I guess I’ll go to bed. But I’ll have to take a bath before I get into that bed. I wonder if I’ve got any clean pajamas. Say, Jack, did that laundry come? I wonder.”
But Jack kept a firm grip on his shoulder, and marched him on to see the rest of the house.
“Third story, too?” asked Gene, surprised as Jack
The father dozed in his chair; awoke, looked around again with tears in his eyes; dozed again dreaming of his dead wife; and the boys sang on for some time.
At last Jack closed the piano and got up. He couldn’t play much but chords, but he bluffed the rest, and really managed to get quite a bit of pleasure out of it.
“Gee!” he said wistfully, yawning and looking at his watch. “Gee! I wish we had a sister or something in the house! Now I s’pose we’ve got to crawl up to that old hole and get some sleep. I’ve a notion to lie here on the floor tonight. I get a nightmare up in my room sometimes just thinking how it looks.”
“Don’t turn on the light,” suggested his brother; “then you can’t see.”
“H’m! You don’t know what you’re talking about. I couldn’t find the bed without a light; the floor’s knee-deep with junk. Well, so long! I’m going to hit the hay. All this excitement’s bad for a working man.”
Jack slowly, reluctantly ascended the stairs, putting his hand affectionately on the old bannister. The top quivered under his grasp, toppled an instant, and fell crashing to the floor.
As if he had hurt a child, the boy hastened back, picked it up, examined the difficulty, hunted up the hammer which he remembered to have seen on the pantry shelf, and drove the nails securely into place again. Then he went upstairs without more ado.
Chapter 6
E ugene took the evening paper from his coat pocket, and settled down to read a few minutes, but it was not quiet overhead. Jack’s footsteps had paused for a moment on the upper landing with that queer, indefinable breathlessness that both boys felt when they first entered the house that evening, and then started excitedly from room to room on the second floor. The noisy footsteps pounded up the third-story stairs, and there was a moment’s quiet, a long moment during which Eugene began to read the athletic scores of the day. Suddenly Jack’s feet were heard again clattering down the stairs.
“Say, Gene! Come up here!” he shouted excitedly before he had reached the second-story landing. There was something in his tone that brought his brother up three steps at a time.
It was to the bathroom shining in its purity that Jack first led his brother. The tub white as enamel could be, the faucets bright, the soap dish immaculate, the floor so clean the pattern of the old linoleum could be seen again, and the towel-racks literally overflowing with white, luxurious towels!
It was at those towels that the brothers gazed longest, reaching out to feel them, unfolding one to see its length and breadth. They had so long used little, inadequate affairs of doubtful character that a bath had become an unpleasant necessity rather than a pleasure.
“Some class!” murmured Eugene rapturously. “I believe I’ll take a bath! Say, I’d like to know who the fairy is that has touched this house with her magic wand while we were away.”
“Just wait till you see!” exclaimed Jack, gripping his brother’s shoulder and whirling him about face.
Eugene stood in his own room doorway, and looked about dazed. The clean white bed, the dainty bureau-scarf, the cleared-up appearance, was almost unbelievable. Something softening came over his face, which was inclined to be cynical.
“Goodnight!” he said at last softly. “I guess I’ll go to bed. But I’ll have to take a bath before I get into that bed. I wonder if I’ve got any clean pajamas. Say, Jack, did that laundry come? I wonder.”
But Jack kept a firm grip on his shoulder, and marched him on to see the rest of the house.
“Third story, too?” asked Gene, surprised as Jack
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