"I'm not a bit disheartened," she declared stoutly. "There's just
one thing to be done to this house--first make it beautiful, and
then make it pay. It can be done. It's going to be done. It's _got_
to be done. And when it's done--we'll have a home. Vision it as it's
going to be, Sophy--rosewood and mahogany and walnut, old brass and
china and prints and portraits, the sort of things we've only been
able to dream of up to now. Why, this house has been waiting for us!
We were born to come here and make it over: it's _our_ house!"
Alicia, has the gay courage of the Irish.
The heavy iron knocker on the front door resounded clamorously.
"Uncle Adam thinks we've been ha'nted out of existence, and he's
hammering to wake the dead," said I.
But it wasn't Uncle Adam to whom we opened the door. An enormous,
square-shouldered man stood there, looking from me to Alicia with
bright, keen blue eyes behind glasses. He was so big, so
magnificently proportioned, that he held one's attention, at first,
by mere size. Then one had time to observe that although he hadn't
the sleek and careful grooming of successful New Yorkers, he wore
his clothes as, say, Coeur de Lion must have worn mail.
Pages:
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46