“Found her, did you?” said Maggie as they passed the dining-room. Her tone was one of good-natured interest, but David did not feel it necessary to reply. He had reached an age when he was beginning to dislike Maggie’s familiar manners. Mrs. Ives admitted she was too much of a coward to try to correct them.
As David and his mother entered the library, his ten-year-old brother Ralph rushed in breathlessly, declaring his satisfaction at finding that he was not late for supper. “I guess you will be, if you try to get yourself properly ready for it,” remarked David, looking the unkempt and dirty-faced small boy over with disfavor. Ralph thrust out his tongue, but when David commanded him sternly to go upstairs and get clean, with some stamping and scuffing he obeyed.
Across the hall rose the violent clamor of the supper bell, which Maggie always rang as if she were summoning the neighborhood to a fire. David and his mother had just seated themselves at the table when Ralph came crashing down the stairs, bounced into the room, and hurled himself into his chair, snorting and panting.
“Gee, you do make a noise!” David said.
“So do you—with your mouth,” Ralph rejoined promptly.
“Boys, boys!” sighed Mrs. Ives, and David turned red and restrained the ready retort. It was hard, because Ralph looked across the table at him jauntily, defiantly.
The entrance of Dr. Ives had a quieting effect on the provocative younger brother. David, glancing at his father, had the uneasy, vaguely apprehensive feeling that had frequently taken possession of him of late. He was always expecting, always hoping that his father would conform in appearance more nearly to the mental picture to which the boy constantly returned—the picture of a tall man, straight and ruddy and broad-shouldered, with laughing eyes and a collar that fitted his neck snugly. It was disappointing—it was worse than disappointing—to realize that his father’s shoulders looked thin and angular; that his cheeks were pale, and his eyes, though kinder than ever, preoccupied and less sparkling; that his collars were looser about his neck than comfort required them to be. David often wondered whether his mother had noticed it, and if so what she thought about it. He did not wish to mention it first; if she was not worrying about it already, he was not going to put a new reason for anxiety into her head.
“Well, David,” said Dr. Ives in his usual cheerful voice, “have you had a talk with your mother?”
“I couldn’t tell him, Henry,” said Mrs. Ives plaintively. “I’ve left it for you to do.”
“Mother said something about my going away somewhere,” added David.