This young brother was alert, cheery, chatty. He was not at all put out by
Foster's wheeled chair and eyeshade, nor by the strange contortions which
Foster went through when, on occasion, he left the chair for a couch or for
some chair of ordinary type. He got behind the wheels, and together they
made the tour of the landscapes, marines, and genre-pieces which covered
the walls. The boy was sympathetic, without being obtrusively so, and his
comments on the paintings were confident and unconventional. "So different
from _ce cher_ Pelouse," said Foster, with a grimace. He enjoyed
immensely the fragmental half-hours given him through those two days. His
young companion was lavish in his reports on life's vast vicissitudes at
Fort Lodge, and was always ready with comparisons between things as
observed in his home town and in Churchton itself. He came as a tonic
breeze; and the evening after he departed, Foster, left moping alone in the
let-down which followed the festivities, said to himself more than once,
"If I had had a boy, I should have wanted him just like Dick."
Dick's mother and aunt stood up as well as they could against the bustling,
emphatic geniality of Medora Phillips; and they were able, after a little,
to adjust themselves to the prosperity of the Pearsons.
Pages:
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312