Grandparent and child -- Fiction; Spanish Americans -- Fiction
Now this attitude of mind had its dangers. Coupled with its possessor's
extraordinary good looks, it was fascinating to a large percentage of
the village girls. The Speranza eyes and the Speranza curls and nose
and chin were, when joined with the easy condescension of the Speranza
manner, a combination fatal to the susceptible. The South Harniss
“flappers,” most of them, enthused over the new bookkeeper in the lumber
office. They ogled and giggled and gushed in his presence, and he was
tolerant or bored, just as he happened to be feeling at the moment. But
he never displayed a marked interest in any one of them, for the very
good reason that he had no such interest. To him they were merely girls,
nice enough in their way, perhaps, but that way not his. Most of the
town young fellows of his age he found had a “girl” and almost every
girl had a “fellow”; there was calf love in abundance, but he was a
different brand of veal.
However, a great man must amuse himself, and so he accepted invitations
to church socials and suppers and to an occasional dance or party. His
style of dancing was not that of South Harniss in the winter. It was
common enough at the hotel or the “tea house” in July and August when
the summer people were there, but not at the town hall at the Red Men's
Annual Ball in February. A fellow who could foxtrot as he could swept
all before him. Sam Thatcher, of last year's class in the high school,
but now clerking in the drug store, who had hitherto reigned as the best
“two-stepper” in town, suddenly became conscious of his feet. Then, too,
the contents of the three trunks which had been sent on from school were
now in evidence. No Boston or Brockton “Advanced Styles” held a candle
to those suits which the tailor of the late Miguel Carlos had turned out
for his patron's only son. No other eighteen-year-older among the town's
year-around residents possessed a suit of evening clothes. Albert wore
his “Tux” at the Red Men's Ball and hearts palpitated beneath new muslin
gowns and bitter envy stirred beneath the Brockton “Advanced Styles.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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