Adventure stories; Brothers -- Fiction; Chicago (Ill.) -- Fiction; Detective and mystery stories
I jerked in spite of myself. You, of course, cannot understand
why without this word of explanation. Jerry and I, as most of our
acquaintances know--and the Chicago papers, in their occasional
discussions of the Fanneals, always veiledly refer to the fact--are not
blood brothers. It is a perfectly evident fact to any one who has seen
both of us; for I am the Fanneal type,--tall and with big bones, strong
and spare in flesh but slow moving; my features are Rhode Island Yankee
transplanted to Illinois, regular enough but too angular; too much
nose, a bit too much chin, also. My hair is sandy brown; my eyes blue.
Jerry’s eyes are blue but mine have no quality of the living color of
his; when I set the word down, it suggests that our eyes, at least, are
alike, whereas we are nowhere more different. Mine are merchants’ eyes,
come down from ten recorded generations of cautious traders; Jerry’s
are--who knows? Jerry’s long, graceful body is not so strong but twice
as quick as mine; Jerry’s clear, dark skin and his soft, black hair on
his daredevil head; his small-boned but strong hands; the laugh and
the lilt of him and his _élan_ are--French, perhaps? Or Spanish, or
Italian? All three together or none, but some other marvellous blend
of energetic, passionate people? No one can say, least of all, Jerry
himself. For one day, when I was about two years old and my nurse had
me playing carefully by myself in a selected and remote spot in Lincoln
Park, Jerry appeared under the trees and ran across the grass to play
with me. Of course my nurse immediately jumped to protect me from
contamination from a dark stranger, though it is remembered that he
was clean and nicely clothed; she tried to send him away and, when he
wouldn’t go but eluded her and hugged me--and I hugged him--she parted
us and tried to take him back to his mother. But she couldn’t find
his mother or any one else who claimed him; she couldn’t find even a
policeman. (Obviously I had no memory of my own about this but was told
it long afterwards.) Then my mother was driven by that way and found
Jerry and me together.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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