“He’s probably a pasty-faced little milksop. There, that’s the last, thank goodness! My, it’s no wonder I’m hungry!” he added, as he looked at his nickel watch. “It’s half-past two and after!”
“It can’t be!”
“It is, though. Hello, what’s that?” He pushed the new curtains aside at a front window and looked out. “It’s a carriage—with a trunk—and bags! I’ll bet it’s the cripple, Hope! Run and tell Lady!”
His sister hurried downstairs, and Jim, lugging his step-ladder with him, followed more slowly, grumbling as he went. “It’s a wonder he couldn’t stay away until the room was ready for him.” He put the ladder out of the way and went out onto the porch in time to see the driver of the carriage open the door and the rubber-tipped ends of a pair of crutches appear. Still resentful, Jim went down the path and reached the gate just as the occupant of the vehicle swung himself nimbly to the sidewalk.
[“This is Mrs. Hazard’s, isn’t it?”] he asked of Jim.
“Yes. I suppose you’re Latham.”
Jim’s tone was not very gracious and the newcomer looked a little surprised. He was a slight, nice looking boy of fifteen, with big wistful brown eyes set in a somewhat pale but cheerful face. He was dressed extremely well, even expensively, and was quite immaculate from the crown of his Panama hat to the tips of his smart tan shoes. As he turned to speak to the driver he looked like any healthy, normal boy, for he appeared well built, straight of back and limb, and it was only when he crossed the sidewalk to the gate that any imperfection showed. Then Jim saw that one foot, the left one, swung clear of the ground by several inches.
“If you’ll tell the man where my room is he will take my baggage up,” said Jeffrey.
Mrs. Hazard met him on the porch, while Hope, frankly curious, hovered in the background.