Canadian fiction; Country life -- Fiction; Families -- Fiction; Humorous stories
Briefly, it seemed, he had happened to meet my friend Harold that day,
and had mentioned his proposed visit to my farm; incidentally, a warm
discussion had arisen. Harold had been convulsed with merriment at
Griggs's conception of the extensive scope of my farming operations.
When Griggs adduced his conversation with me as evidence Harold had
laughed still more uproariously, declaring it was the best joke he ever
heard--further, that my live-stock consisted of five old hens and some
chickens. Griggs knew Harold to be fond of joking, but had,
reluctantly, believed him. He had not expected, he admitted, to see such
a well-stocked farm.
"In other words," I said, with some heat, "you expected to find that
I"----
"Hold up!" interrupted Griggs hastily. "You see, Carton, I was mad at
the thought of having been made a fool of. I can understand a fellow
lying on a business deal, when it's to his interest, but to sit down and
lie cold-bloodedly, just for recreation, like"----
"Like whom?" I demanded wrathfully, as he paused.
"Like that brute Jones," answered Griggs, with a vicious jerk of his
head. "I'll get back on him, you bet!"
I began to see daylight. "Come away up to the house and we'll have a
little refreshment," I said, with hospitable zeal.
Griggs brightened. It was a warm day, so I brought him around to the
south veranda, but I would have entertained him anywhere else had I
remembered that Paul was there. He was curled up in a chair, absorbed in
a book. I knew he was oblivious of what had been going on, but there is
never any certainty of what Paul may, or may not, say, and I felt a
qualm of misgiving. Griggs proceeded to attract his attention by
snapping his fingers, as if the boy were a puppy or an infant,
remarking, to me, that he was wondering where I kept the kids. Now Paul
is not shy, but we never could induce him to notice a stranger's
advances without being formally introduced, consequently, if his mind is
suddenly withdrawn from his imaginary world, he looks shy; worse, he
looks as if he were unseeing, deaf, and an idiot. My mind was
preoccupied, or I would have avoided difficulties by introducing Griggs,
but I unfortunately neglected that formality. Paul's stolid and
incurious gaze rested on my visitor; I looked on spellbound, knowing
that his mind was working with intensity, and that something was coming;
Griggs shuffled uneasily.
"Well, sonny," said Griggs, at last, "what do you think of me?"
I have watched a toad sit motionless waiting for a fly to come within
reach with exactly Paul's expression. I noticed that his eyelids didn't
even blink. Griggs glanced at me; I felt, rather than saw, the
patronizing condolence of his look. It is the look of the proud father
who raises children guaranteed to fit ready-made clothing.
"Paul," I prompted, with pregnant meaning, "why don't you answer? What
do you think of this gentleman?"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account