“But she’s been here for years, Jim dear, while we are only starting. It’s going to take time, of course. Meanwhile we have that Latham boy—”
“And he’s a cripple,” interrupted Jim, “and I dare say no one else would take him!”
“I don’t think that at all,” protested his mother as they entered the gate, “for Mr. Gordon said that he was sending him to me because he wanted a place where the poor boy could be well looked after. Oh, how nice your sign looks! I suppose it is perfectly all right to have a sign, Jim, but I see none of the other houses have any.”
“That’s the point,” replied Jim. “This is going to be different. Fellows who come here are going to be at home; this isn’t going to be just a plain boarding-house, Lady. Isn’t it most dinner time? I’m pretty hungry.”
“You shall have it right away. I’ll tell Jane I’m back.” She hurried through to the kitchen, and Jim, with a sigh, picked up his step-ladder and, followed by Hope, trudged upstairs to hang the curtains in the corner room.
“I wonder what sort of a cripple he is,” mused Hope, as she paired the strips of flounced muslin. “I do hope he will be nice.”
“I wish Mr. Gordon had sent his cripple somewhere else,” muttered her brother as he worked the brass pole through the heading. “Anybody can impose on Lady.”
“Jim, you’re perfectly awful to-day! You’re just one long wail of despair. I guess you want your dinner. Boys are always grumpy when they’re hungry. Here’s a hole in this curtain. I’ll draw it together after dinner.”
“It’s good enough for him,” growled Jim, who was working himself rapidly into a fit of ill-temper. “I dare say we’ll have to lug him up and down stairs, too.”
“Oh, I don’t believe he’s that kind of a cripple,” responded Hope. “And he has a perfectly jimmy name, hasn’t he? Jeffrey Latham; it’s quite a—a romantic sort of name, Jim.”