“I brought you one out of the American, too.” Frank seized the papers and grunted his thanks.
“How is Nettie?” inquired his aunt.
She had to repeat her question for the boy’s attention was already absorbed by the colored pictures.
“Oh, she’s all right, I guess,” he answered carelessly.
“Is she really sick?”
“I dunno.”
Reproof was on Jeannette’s lips but she checked herself. Frank was her favorite among her sister’s children; he was the only one of them, she was at pains to declare frequently, who had any “gumption.” The rest were like their easy-going, amiable parents. Frank had some of her own energy; he was like her in many ways. It was clear he was destined to be the mainstay of his father’s and mother’s old age. He was sure to get on, make money, be successful no matter in what direction he turned his energies. A fine, clever boy, she considered him, with some “get-up-and-get” in his composition.
She left the two brothers seated side by side on the steps, poring over the “comics.” Their voices followed her as she entered the house.
“Go on, read it to me;—go on, read it to me. Don’t be a dirty stinker.”
“Aw, shut up, can’t yer? Wait till I get through first.”