Alice Adams Booth Tarkington (ebook reader txt) đ
- Author: Booth Tarkington
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âHush!â Alice whispered, for her motherâs voice grew louder. âHush! Heâll hear you, mama.â
âCould he hear me too often?â the embittered lady asked. âIf heâd listened to me at the right time, would we have to be taking in boarders and sinking down in the scale at the end of our lives, instead of going up? You were both wrong; we didnât need to be so panickyâ âthat was just what that old man wanted: to scare us and buy us out for nothing! If your fatherâd just listened to me then, or if for once in his life heâd just been half a manâ ââ
Alice put her hand over her motherâs mouth. âYou mustnât! He will hear you!â
But from the other side of Adamsâs closed door his voice came querulously. âOh, I hear her, all right!â
âYou see, mama?â Alice said, and, as Mrs. Adams turned away, weeping, the daughter sighed; then went in to speak to her father.
He was in his old chair by the table, with a pillow behind his head, but the crocheted scarf and Mrs. Adamsâs wrapper swathed him no more; he wore a dressing-gown his wife had bought for him, and was smoking his pipe. âThe old story, is it?â he said, as Alice came in. âThe same, same old story! Well, well! Has she gone?â
âYes, papa.â
âGot your hat on,â he said. âWhere you going?â
âIâm going downtown on an errand of my own. Is there anything you want, papa?â
âYes, there is.â He smiled at her. âI wish youâd sit down a while and talk to me unless your errandâ ââ
âNo,â she said, taking a chair near him. âI was just going down to see about some arrangements I was making for myself. Thereâs no hurry.â
âWhat arrangements for yourself, dearie?â
âIâll tell you afterwardsâ âafter I find out something about âem myself.â
âAll right,â he said, indulgently. âKeep your secrets; keep your secrets.â He paused, drew musingly upon his pipe, and shook his head. âFunnyâ âthe way your mother looks at things! For the matter oâ that, everythingâs pretty funny, I expect, if you stop to think about it. For instance, let her say all she likes, but we were pushed right spang to the wall, if J. A. Lamb hadnât taken it into his head to make that offer for the works; and thereâs one of the things I been thinking about lately, Alice: thinking about how funny they work out.â
âWhat did you think about it, papa!â
âWell, Iâve seen it happen in other peopleâs lives, time and time again; and now itâs happened in ours. You think youâre going to be pushed right up against the wall; you canât see any way out, or any hope at all; you think youâre goneâ âand then something you never counted on turns up; and, while maybe you never do get back to where you used to be, yet somehow you kind of squirm out of being right spang against the wall. You keep on goingâ âmaybe you canât go much, but you do go a little. See what I mean?â
âYes. I understand, dear.â
âYes, Iâm afraid you do,â he said. âToo bad! You oughtnât to understand it at your age. It seems to me a good deal as if the Lord really meant for the young people to have the good times, and for the old to have the troubles; and when anybody as young as you has trouble thereâs a big mistake somewhere.â
âOh, no!â she protested.
But he persisted whimsically in this view of divine error: âYes, it does look a good deal that way. But of course we canât tell; weâre never certain about anythingâ ânot about anything at all. Sometimes I look at it another way, though. Sometimes it looks to me as if a bodyâs troubles came on him mainly because he hadnât had sense enough to know how not to have anyâ âas if his troubles were kind of like a boyâs getting kept in after school by the teacher, to give him discipline, or something or other. But, my, my! We donât learn easy!â He chuckled mournfully. âNot to learn how to live till weâre about ready to die, it certainly seems to me dang tough!â
âThen I wouldnât brood on such a notion, papa,â she said.
âââBroodâ? No!â he returned. âI just kind oâ mull it over.â He chuckled again, sighed, and then, not looking at her, he said, âThat Mr. Russellâ âyour mother tells me he hasnât been here againâ ânot sinceâ ââ
âNo,â she said, quietly, as Adams paused. âHe never came again.â
âWell, but maybeâ ââ
âNo,â she said. âThere isnât any âmaybe.â I told him goodbye that night, papa. It was before he knew about Walterâ âI told you.â
âWell, well,â Adams said. âYoung people are entitled to their own privacy; I donât want to pry.â He emptied his pipe into a chipped saucer on the table beside him, laid the pipe aside, and reverted to a former topic. âSpeaking of dyingâ ââ
âWell, but we werenât!â Alice protested.
âYes, about not knowing how to live till youâre through livingâ âand then maybe not!â he said, chuckling at his own determined pessimism. âI see Iâm pretty old because I talk this wayâ âI remember my grandmother saying things a good deal like all what Iâm saying now; I used to hear her at it when I was a young fellowâ âshe was a right gloomy old lady, I remember. Well, anyhow, it reminds me: I want to get on my feet again as soon as I can; I got to look around and find something to go into.â
Alice shook her head gently. âBut, papa, he told youâ ââ
âNever mind throwing that dang doctor up at me!â Adams interrupted, peevishly. âHe said Iâd be good for some kind of light jobâ âif I could find just the right thing. âWhere there wouldnât be either any physical or mental strain,â he said. Well, I got to find something like that. Anyway, Iâll feel better if I can just get out looking for it.â
âBut, papa, Iâm afraid you
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