Little Women, Louisa May Alcott [most recommended books TXT] 📗

“It’s only me, Sir, come to return a book,” she said blandly, as she entered.

“Want any more?” asked the old gentleman, looking grim and vexed, but trying not to show it.

“Yes, please. I like old Sam so well, I think I’ll try the second volume,” returned Jo, hoping to propitiate him by accepting a second dose of Boswell’s Johnson, as he had recommended that lively work.

The shaggy eyebrows unbent a little as he rolled the steps toward the shelf where the Johnsonian literature was placed. Jo skipped up, and sitting on the top step, affected to be searching for her book, but was really wondering how best to introduce the dangerous object of her visit. Mr. Laurence seemed to suspect that something was brewing in her mind, for after taking several brisk turns about the room, he faced round on her, speaking so abruptly that Rasselas tumbled face downward on the floor.

“What has that boy been about? Don’t try to shield him. I know he has been in mischief by the way he acted when he came home. I can’t get a word from him, and when I threatened to shake the truth out of him he bolted upstairs and locked himself into his room.”

“He did wrong, but we forgave him, and all promised not to say a word to anyone,” began Jo reluctantly.

“That won’t do. He shall not shelter himself behind a promise from you softhearted girls. If he’s done anything amiss, he shall confess, beg pardon, and be punished. Out with it, Jo. I won’t be kept in the dark.”

Mr. Laurence looked so alarming and spoke so sharply that Jo would have gladly run away, if she could, but she was perched aloft on the steps, and he stood at the foot, a lion in the path, so she had to stay and brave it out.

“Indeed, Sir, I cannot tell. Mother forbade it. Laurie has confessed, asked pardon, and been punished quite enough. We don’t keep silence to shield him, but someone else, and it will make more trouble if you interfere. Please don’t. It was partly my fault, but it’s all right now. So let’s forget it, and talk about the Rambler or something pleasant.”

“Hang the Rambler! Come down and give me your word that this harum-scarum boy of mine hasn’t done anything ungrateful or impertinent. If he has, after all your kindness to him, I’ll thrash him with my own hands.”

The threat sounded awful, but did not alarm Jo, for she knew the irascible old gentleman would never lift a finger against his grandson, whatever he might say to the contrary. She obediently descended, and made as light of the prank as she could without betraying Meg or forgetting the truth.

“Hum… ha… well, if the boy held his tongue because he promised, and not from obstinacy, I’ll forgive him. He’s a stubborn fellow and hard to manage,” said Mr. Laurence, rubbing up his hair till it looked as if he had been out in a gale, and smoothing the frown from his brow with an air of relief.

“So am I, but a kind word will govern me when all the king’s horses and all the king’s men couldn’t,” said Jo, trying to say a kind word for her friend, who seemed to get out of one scrape only to fall into another.

“You think I’m not kind to him, hey?” was the sharp answer.

“Oh, dear no, Sir. You are rather too kind sometimes, and then just a trifle hasty when he tries your patience. Don’t you think you are?”

Jo was determined to have it out now, and tried to look quite placid, though she quaked a little after her bold speech. To her great relief and surprise, the old gentleman only threw his spectacles onto the table with a rattle and exclaimed frankly, “You’re right, girl, I am! I love the boy, but he tries my patience past bearing, and I know how it will end, if we go on so.”

“I’ll tell you, he’ll run away.” Jo was sorry for that speech the minute it was made. She meant to warn him that Laurie would not bear much restraint, and hoped he would be more forebearing with the lad.

Mr. Laurence’s ruddy face changed suddenly, and he sat down, with a troubled glance at the picture of a handsome man, which hung over his table. It was Laurie’s father, who had run away in his youth, and married against the imperious old man’s will. Jo fancied he remembered and regretted the past, and she wished she had held her tongue.

“He won’t do it unless he is very much worried, and only threatens it sometimes, when he gets tired of studying. I often think I should like to, especially since my hair was cut, so if you ever miss us, you may advertise for two boys and look among the ships bound for India.”

She laughed as she spoke, and Mr. Laurence looked relieved, evidently taking the whole as a joke.

“You hussy, how dare you talk in that way? Where’s your respect for me, and your proper bringing up? Bless the boys and girls! What torments they are, yet we can’t do without them,” he said, pinching her cheeks goodhumoredly. “Go and bring that boy down to his dinner, tell him it’s all right, and advise him not to put on tragedy airs with his grandfather. I won’t bear it.”

“He won’t come, Sir. He feels badly because you didn’t believe him when he said he couldn’t tell. I think the shaking hurt his feelings very much.”

Jo tried to look pathetic but must have failed, for Mr. Laurence began to laugh, and she knew the day was won.

“I’m sorry for that, and ought to thank him for not shaking me, I suppose. What the dickens does the fellow expect?” and the old gentleman looked a trifle ashamed of his own testiness.

“If I were you, I’d write him an apology, Sir. He says he won’t come down till he has one, and talks about Washington, and goes on in an absurd way. A formal apology will make him see how foolish he is, and bring him down quite amiable. Try it. He likes fun, and this way is better than talking. I’ll carry it up, and teach him his duty.”

Mr. Laurence gave her a sharp look, and put on his spectacles, saying slowly, “You’re a sly puss, but I don’t mind being managed by you and Beth. Here, give me a bit of paper, and let us have done with this nonsense.”

The note was written in the terms which one gentleman would use to another after offering some deep insult. Jo dropped a kiss on the top of Mr. Laurence’s bald head, and ran up to slip the apology under Laurie’s door, advising him through the keyhole to be submissive, decorous, and a few other agreeable impossibilities. Finding the door locked again, she left the note to do its work, and was going quietly away, when the young gentleman slid down the banisters, and waited for her at the bottom, saying, with his most virtuous expression of countenance, “What a good fellow you are, Jo! Did you get blown up?” he added, laughing.

“No, he was pretty mild, on the whole.”

“Ah! I got it all round. Even you cast me off over there, and I felt just ready to go to the deuce,” he began apologetically.

“Don’t talk that way, turn over a new leaf and begin again, Teddy, my son.”

“I keep turning over new leaves, and spoiling them, as I used to spoil my copybooks, and I make so many beginnings there never will be an end,” he said dolefully.

“Go and eat your dinner, you’ll feel better after it. Men always croak when they are hungry,” and Jo whisked out at the front door after that.

“That’s a ‘label’ on my ‘sect’,” answered Laurie, quoting Amy, as he went to partake of humble pie dutifully with his grandfather, who was quite saintly in temper and overwhelmingly respectful in manner all the rest of the day.

Everyone thought the matter ended and the little cloud blown over, but the mischief was done, for though others forgot it, Meg remembered. She never alluded to a certain person, but she thought of him a good deal, dreamed dreams more than ever, and once Jo, rummaging her sister’s desk for stamps, found a bit of paper scribbled over with the words, ‘Mrs. John Brooke’, whereat she groaned tragically and cast it into the fire, feeling that Laurie’s prank had hastened the evil day for her.