Pollyanna Grows Up Eleanor H. Porter (booksvooks .TXT) đ
- Author: Eleanor H. Porter
Book online «Pollyanna Grows Up Eleanor H. Porter (booksvooks .TXT) đ». Author Eleanor H. Porter
âDo you think you knewâ âmy father?â he begged.
Mrs. Carew closed her eyes and pressed her hand to her head.
âI donâtâ âknow,â she answered. âBut I thinkâ ânot.â
Pollyanna gave a quick cry of keen disappointment, but as quickly she suppressed it in obedience to Mrs. Carewâs warning glance. With new horror, however, she surveyed the tiny room.
Jamie, turning his wondering eyes from Mrs. Carewâs face, suddenly awoke to his duties as host.
âWasnât you good to come!â he said to Pollyanna, gratefully. âHowâs Sir Lancelot? Do you ever go to feed him now?â Then, as Pollyanna did not answer at once, he hurried on, his eyes going from her face to the somewhat battered pink in a broken-necked bottle in the window. âDid you see my posy? Jerry found it. Somebody dropped it and he picked it up. Ainât it pretty? And it smells a little.â
But Pollyanna did not seem even to have heard him. She was still gazing, wide-eyed about the room, clasping and unclasping her hands nervously.
âBut I donât see how you can ever play the game here at all, Jamie,â she faltered. âI didnât suppose there could be anywhere such a perfectly awful place to live,â she shuddered.
âHo!â scoffed Jamie, valiantly. âYouâd oughter see the Pikesâ downstairs. Theirs is a whole lot worseân this. You donât know what a lot of nice things there is about this room. Why, we get the sun in that winder there for âmost two hours every day, when it shines. And if you get real near it you can see a whole lot of sky from it. If we could only keep the room!â âbut you see weâve got to leave, weâre afraid. And thatâs whatâs worrinâ us.â
âLeave!â
âYes. We got behind on the rentâ âmumsey beinâ sick so, and not earninâ anythinâ.â In spite of a courageously cheerful smile, Jamieâs voice shook. âMisâ Dolan downstairsâ âthe woman what keeps my wheel chair for me, you knowâ âis helpinâ us out this week. But of course she canât do it always, and then weâll have to goâ âif Jerry donât strike it rich, or somethinâ.â
âOh, but canât weâ ââ began Pollyanna.
She stopped short. Mrs. Carew had risen to her feet abruptly with a hurried:
âCome, Pollyanna, we must go.â Then to the woman she turned wearily. âYou wonât have to leave. Iâll send you money and food at once, and Iâll mention your case to one of the charity organizations in which I am interested, and they willâ ââ
In surprise she ceased speaking. The bent little figure of the woman opposite had drawn itself almost erect. Mrs. Murphyâs cheeks were flushed. Her eyes showed a smouldering fire.
âThank you, no, Mrs. Carew,â she said tremulously, but proudly. âWeâre poorâ âGod knows; but we ainât charity folks.â
âNonsense!â cried Mrs. Carew, sharply. âYouâre letting the woman downstairs help you. This boy said so.â
âI know; but that ainât charity,â persisted the woman, still tremulously. âMrs. Dolan is my friend. She knows Iâd do her a good turn just as quickâ âI have done âem for her in times past. Help from friends ainât charity. They care; and thatâ âthat makes a difference. We waânât always as we are now, you see; and that makes it hurt all the moreâ âall this. Thank you; but we couldnât takeâ âyour money.â
Mrs. Carew frowned angrily. It had been a most disappointing, heartbreaking, exhausting hour for her. Never a patient woman, she was exasperated now, besides being utterly tired out.
âVery well, just as you please,â she said coldly. Then, with vague irritation she added: âBut why donât you go to your landlord and insist that he make you even decently comfortable while you do stay? Surely youâre entitled to something besides broken windows stuffed with rags and papers! And those stairs that I came up are positively dangerous.â
Mrs. Murphy sighed in a discouraged way. Her twisted little figure had fallen back into its old hopelessness.
âWe have tried to have something done, but itâs never amounted to anything. We never see anybody but the agent, of course; and he says the rents are too low for the owner to put out any more money on repairs.â
âNonsense!â snapped Mrs. Carew, with all the sharpness of a nervous, distraught woman who has at last found an outlet for her exasperation. âItâs shameful! Whatâs more, I think itâs a clear case of violation of the law;â âthose stairs are, certainly. I shall make it my business to see that heâs brought to terms. What is the name of that agent, and who is the owner of this delectable establishment?â
âI donât know the name of the owner, madam; but the agent is Mr. Dodge.â
âDodge!â Mrs. Carew turned sharply, an odd look on her face. âYou donât meanâ âHenry Dodge?â
âYes, madam. His name is Henry, I think.â
A flood of color swept into Mrs. Carewâs face, then receded, leaving it whiter than before.
âVery well, Iâ âIâll attend to it,â she murmured, in a half-stifled voice, turning away. âCome, Pollyanna, we must go now.â
Over at the bed Pollyanna was bidding Jamie a tearful goodbye.
âBut Iâll come again. Iâll come real soon,â she promised brightly, as she hurried through the door after Mrs. Carew.
Not until they had picked their precarious way down the three long flights of stairs and through the jabbering, gesticulating crowd of men, women, and children that surrounded the scowling Perkins and the limousine, did Pollyanna speak again. But then she scarcely waited for the irate chauffeur to slam the door upon them before she pleaded:
âDear Mrs. Carew, please, please say that it was Jamie! Oh, it would be so nice for him to be Jamie.â
âBut he isnât Jamie!â
âO dear! Are you sure?â
There was a momentâs pause, then Mrs. Carew covered her face with her hands.
âNo, Iâm not sureâ âand thatâs the tragedy of it,â she moaned. âI donât think he is; Iâm almost positive he isnât. But, of course, there is a chanceâ âand thatâs whatâs killing me.â
âThen canât you just think heâs Jamie,â begged Pollyanna, âand play he was? Then you could take him home, andâ ââ But Mrs. Carew turned fiercely.
âTake that boy into my home
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