The Lifted Bandage
The man let himself into his front door and, staggering lightly, like a drunken man, as he closed it, walked to the hall table, and mechanically laid down his hat, but still wearing his overcoat turned and went into his library, and dropped on the edge of a divan and stared out through the leaded panes of glass across the room facing him. The grayish skin of his face seemed to fall in diagonal furrows, from the eyes, from the nose, from the mouth. He sat, still to his finger-tips, staring. He was sitting so when a servant slipped in and stood motionless a minute, and went to the wide window where the west light glared through leafless branches outside, and drew the shades lower, and went to the fireplace and touched a match. Wood caught and crackled and a cheerful orange flame flew noisily up the chimney, but the man sitting on the divan did not notice. The butler waited a moment, watching, hesitating, and then: "Have you had lunch, sir?" he asked in a tentative, gentle voice. The staring eyes moved with an effort and rested on the servant's face. "Lunch?" he repeated, apparently trying to focus on the meaning of the word. "Lunch? I don't know, Miller. But don't bring anything."
away, while her eyes danced with fun as she imagined herself telling
the story at home.
"Hey! Why, what the dickens has come to the fellow?" said the
old gentleman, as Laurie came running downstairs and brought up with
a start of surprise at the astounding sight of Jo arm in arm with
his redoubtable grandfather.
"I didn't know you'd come, sir," he began, as Jo gave him a
triumphant little glance.
"That's evident, by the way you racket downstairs. Come to
your tea, sir, and behave like a gentleman." And having pulled
the boy's hair by way of a caress, Mr. Laurence walked on, while
Laurie went through a series of comic evolutions behind their
backs, which nearly produced an explosion of laughter from Jo.
The old gentleman did not say much as he drank his four
cups of tea, but he watched the young people, who soon chatted
away like old friends, and the change in his grandson did not
escape him. There was color, light, and life in the boy's face
now, vivacity in his manner, and genuine merriment in his laugh.
"She's right, the lad is lonely. I'll see what these little
girls can do for him," thought Mr. Laurence, as he looked and
listened. He liked Jo, for her odd, blunt ways suited him, and
The man let himself into his front door and, staggering lightly, like a drunken man, as he closed it, walked to the hall table, and mechanically laid down his hat, but still wearing his overcoat turned and went into his library, and dropped on the edge of a divan and stared out through the leaded panes of glass across the room facing him. The grayish skin of his face seemed to fall in diagonal furrows, from the eyes, from the nose, from the mouth. He sat, still to his finger-tips, staring. He was sitting so when a servant slipped in and stood motionless a minute, and went to the wide window where the west light glared through leafless branches outside, and drew the shades lower, and went to the fireplace and touched a match. Wood caught and crackled and a cheerful orange flame flew noisily up the chimney, but the man sitting on the divan did not notice. The butler waited a moment, watching, hesitating, and then: "Have you had lunch, sir?" he asked in a tentative, gentle voice. The staring eyes moved with an effort and rested on the servant's face. "Lunch?" he repeated, apparently trying to focus on the meaning of the word. "Lunch? I don't know, Miller. But don't bring anything."