Grandparent and child -- Fiction; Spanish Americans -- Fiction
The captain said good morning in the same way he had said good night,
that is, he and Albert shook hands and the boy was again conscious of
the gaze which took him in from head to foot and of the quiet twinkle in
the gray eyes.
“Sleep well, son?” inquired Captain Zelotes.
“Yes . . . Yes, sir.”
“That's good. I judged you was makin' a pretty good try at it when I
thumped on your door this mornin'. Somethin' new for you to be turned
out at seven, eh?”
“No, sir.”
“Eh? It wasn't?”
“No, sir. The rising bell rang at seven up at school. We were supposed
to be down at breakfast at a quarter past.”
“Humph! You were, eh? Supposed to be? Does that mean that you were
there?”
“Yes, sir.”
There was a surprised look in the gray eyes now, a fact which Albert
noticed with inward delight. He had taken one “rise” out of his
grandfather, at any rate. He waited, hoping for another opportunity, but
it did not come. Instead they sat down to breakfast.
Breakfast, in spite of the morning sunshine at the windows, was somewhat
gloomy. The homesickness, although not as acute as on the previous
night, was still in evidence. Albert felt lost, out of his element,
lonely. And, to add a touch of real miserableness, the housekeeper
served and ate like a near relative of the deceased at a funeral feast.
She moved slowly, she sighed heavily, and the bandage upon her forehead
loomed large and portentous. When spoken to she seldom replied before
the third attempt. Captain Zelotes lost patience.
“Have another egg?” he roared, brandishing the spoon containing it at
arm's length and almost under her nose. “Egg! Egg! EGG! If you can't
hear it, smell it. Only answer, for heaven sakes!”
The effect of this outburst was obviously not what he had hoped. Mrs.
Ellis stared first at the egg quivering before her face, then at the
captain. Then she rose and marched majestically to the kitchen. The door
closed, but a heartrending sniff drifted in through the crack. Olive
laid down her knife and fork.
“There!” she exclaimed, despairingly. “Now see what you've done. Oh,
Zelotes, how many times have I told you you've got to treat her tactful
when she's this way?”
Captain Lote put the egg back in the bowl.
“DAMN!” he observed, with intense enthusiasm.
His wife shook her head.
“Swearin' don't help it a mite, either,” she declared. “Besides I
don't know what Albert here must think of you.” Albert, who, between
astonishment and a wild desire to laugh, was in a critical condition,
appeared rather embarrassed. His grandfather looked at him and smiled
grimly.
“I cal'late one damn won't scare him to death,” he observed. “Maybe he's
heard somethin' like it afore. Or do they say, 'Oh, sugar!' up at that
school you come from?” he added.
Albert, not knowing how to reply, looked more embarrassed than ever.
Olive seemed on the point of weeping.
“Oh, Zelotes, how CAN you!” she wailed. “And to-day, of all days! His
very first mornin'!”
Captain Lote relented.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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