"Women are like that--good women," said Quintan. "Catch a man being
such a fool--looking at it generally, you know--me apart. She had
a tidy little fortune from her father, and might have had a yard
of her own to play in, but our little baby hands held her tight."
Raymond regarded his companion's hands. They were large and red,
and rough with the hard work on board the Dixie; regarded them
respectfully, almost with awe, for had they not restrained that
glorious being in the full tide of her youth and beauty!
"Now it's too late," said Quintan.
"What do you mean by too late?" asked the quartermaster.
"Well, she's passed forty," said Quintan. "The babies have grown
up, and the selfish beasts are striking out for themselves. Her
occupation's gone, and she's left plante la. Worse than that, my
mother, who never bothered two cents about us then, now loves us
to distraction. And, when all's said, you know, it's natural to
like your mother best!"
"Too bad!" ejaculated Raymond.
"I call it deuced hard luck," said Quintan. "My mother really
neglected us shamefully, and it was Aunt Christine who brought us
up and blew our noses and rubbed us with goose-grease when we had
croup, and all that kind of thing. Then, when we grew up, my
mother suddenly discovered her long-lost children and began to
think a heap of us--after having scamped the whole business for
fifteen years--and my aunt, who was the real nigger in the hedge,
got kind of let out, you see.
Pages:
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127