However, he grew better at
last, and my presentation took place.
We had just finished our cigars in Beasley's airy, old-fashioned
"sitting-room," and were rising to go, when there came the faint
creaking of small wheels from the hall. Beasley turned to me with the
apologetic and monosyllabic chuckle that was distinctly his alone.
"I've got a little chap here--" he said; then went to the door. "Bob!"
The old darky appeared in the doorway pushing a little wagon like a
reclining-chair on wheels, and in it sat Hamilton Swift, Junior.
My first impression of him was that he was all eyes: I couldn't look at
anything else for a time, and was hardly conscious of the rest of that
weazened, peaked little face and the under-sized wisp of a body with its
pathetic adjuncts of metal and leather. I think they were the brightest
eyes I ever saw--as keen and intelligent as a wicked old woman's, withal
as trustful and cheery as the eyes of a setter pup.
"HOO-ray!"
Thus the Honorable Mr. Beasley, waving a handkerchief thrice around his
head and thrice cheering.
And the child, in that cricket's voice of his, replied:
"Br-r-ra-vo!"
This was the form of salutation familiarly in use between them. Beasley
followed it by inquiring, "Who's with us to-day?"
"I'm MISTER Swift," chirped the little fellow. "MIS-TER Swift, if you
please, Cousin David Beasley."
Beasley executed a formal bow. "There is a gentleman here who'd like to
meet you.
Pages:
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48