“Well?”
“Please, sister—make Mama not make you take me out, to-day.”
“What’s wrong?” She looked down, interested.
“Please, sister—I want to be here when Jonas is coming.”
He looked up piteously. And Rhoda laughed.
“All right. I don’t care, I’m sure. I’ll see to it.”
So Quincy went up to his room. He did not take out his toy engine or his soldiers. He knew he should not be able to do his vacation homework. For some strange reason, he was prompted to look at Hercules and Venus. But mostly, he waited. Waiting was by now the atmosphere he lived in. His mood had grown so wide, he scarcely noticed it, for want of something to contrast it with. His strain toward Jonas had grown so intense, he scarce saw him, felt him, thought of him any longer. His subconscious mind seemed to be the active one. So he merely waited, doing few external things, aware of few external qualities. And among those that went were time and Jonas. All that remained was the abstract waiting for him.
And then, a noise below. For a moment, it meant nothing. Then it flashed on him palpably that Jonas had arrived! He rushed to the door. He was downstairs. Jonas was before him.
“Brother!” he cried, aching to be caught up.
Jonas looked down at the intrusion.