Alice Adams, Booth Tarkington [thriller novels to read .txt] 📗

and up the back stairs then through the upper hallway. At the top of the front stairs she paused for a moment, drawing a deep breath; and then, before her father’s puzzled eyes, a transformation came upon her.

Her shoulders, like her eyelids, had been drooping, but now she threw her head back: the shoulders straightened, and the lashes lifted over sparkling eyes; vivacity came to her whole body in a flash; and she tripped down the steps, with her pretty hands rising in time to the lilting little tune she had begun to hum.

At the foot of the stairs, one of those pretty hands extended itself at full arm’s length toward Russell, and continued to be extended until it reached his own hand as he came to meet her. “How terrible of me!” she exclaimed. “To be so late coming down! And papa, too⁠—I think you know each other.”

Her father was advancing toward the young man, expecting to shake hands with him, but Alice stood between them, and Russell, a little flushed, bowed to him gravely over her shoulder, without looking at him; whereupon Adams, slightly disconcerted, put his hands in his pockets and turned to his wife.

“I guess dinner’s more’n ready,” he said. “We better go sit down.”

But she shook her head at him fiercely, “Wait!” she whispered.

“What for? For Walter?”

“No; he can’t be coming,” she returned, hurriedly, and again warned him by a shake of her head. “Be quiet!”

“Oh, well⁠—” he muttered.

“Sit down!”

He was thoroughly mystified, but obeyed her gesture and went to the rocking-chair in the opposite corner, where he sat down, and, with an expression of meek inquiry, awaited events.

Meanwhile, Alice prattled on: “It’s really not a fault of mine, being tardy. The shameful truth is I was trying to hurry papa. He’s incorrigible: he stays so late at his terrible old factory⁠—terrible new factory, I should say. I hope you don’t hate us for making you dine with us in such fearful weather! I’m nearly dying of the heat, myself, so you have a fellow-sufferer, if that pleases you. Why is it we always bear things better if we think other people have to stand them, too?” And she added, with an excited laugh: “Silly of us, don’t you think?”

Gertrude had just made her entrance from the dining-room, bearing a tray. She came slowly, with an air of resentment; and her skirt still needed adjusting, while her lower jaw moved at intervals, though not now upon any substance, but reminiscently, of habit. She halted before Adams, facing him.

He looked plaintive. “What you want o’ me?” he asked.

For response, she extended the tray toward him with a gesture of indifference; but he still appeared to be puzzled. “What in the world⁠—?” he began, then caught his wife’s eye, and had presence of mind enough to take a damp and plastic sandwich from the tray. “Well, I’ll try one,” he said, but a moment later, as he fulfilled this promise, an expression of intense dislike came upon his features, and he would have returned the sandwich to Gertrude. However, as she had crossed the room to Mrs. Adams he checked the gesture, and sat helplessly, with the sandwich in his hand. He made another effort to get rid of it as the waitress passed him, on her way back to the dining-room, but she appeared not to observe him, and he continued to be troubled by it.

Alice was a loyal daughter. “These are delicious, mama,” she said; and turning to Russell, “You missed it; you should have taken one. Too bad we couldn’t have offered you what ought to go with it, of course, but⁠—”

She was interrupted by the second entrance of Gertrude, who announced, “Dinner serve’,” and retired from view.

“Well, well!” Adams said, rising from his chair, with relief. “That’s good! Let’s go see if we can eat it.” And as the little group moved toward the open door of the dining-room he disposed of his sandwich by dropping it in the empty fireplace.

Alice, glancing back over her shoulder, was the only one who saw him, and she shuddered in spite of herself. Then, seeing that he looked at her entreatingly, as if he wanted to explain that he was doing the best he could, she smiled upon him sunnily, and began to chatter to Russell again.

XXII

Alice kept her sprightly chatter going when they sat down, though the temperature of the room and the sight of hot soup might have discouraged a less determined gayety. Moreover, there were details as unpropitious as the heat: the expiring roses expressed not beauty but pathos, and what faint odour they exhaled was no rival to the lusty emanations of the Brussels sprouts; at the head of the table, Adams, sitting low in his chair, appeared to be unable to flatten the uprising wave of his starched bosom; and Gertrude’s manner and expression were of a recognizable hostility during the long period of vain waiting for the cups of soup to be emptied. Only Mrs. Adams made any progress in this direction; the others merely feinting, now and then lifting their spoons as if they intended to do something with them.

Alice’s talk was little more than cheerful sound, but, to fill a desolate interval, served its purpose; and her mother supported her with ever-faithful cooings of applausive laughter. “What a funny thing weather is!” the girl ran on. “Yesterday it was cool⁠—angels had charge of it⁠—and today they had an engagement somewhere else, so the devil saw his chance and started to move the equator to the North Pole; but by the time he got halfway, he thought of something else he wanted to do, and went off; and left the equator here, right on top of us! I wish he’d come back and get it!”

“Why, Alice dear!” her mother cried, fondly. “What an imagination! Not a very pious one, I’m afraid Mr. Russell might think, though!” Here she gave Gertrude a hidden signal to remove the