One building was very much like other, but Gregg's
familiar eye pierced through the roofs and into Widow Sullivan's staggering
shack, into Hezekiah Whittleby's hushed sitting-room, down to the moist, dark
floor of the Captain's saloon into that amazing junkshop, the General
Merchandise store; but first and last he looked to the little flag which
gleamed and snapped above the schoolhouse, and it spelled "my country" to Vic.
Marne consented to break into a neat-footed jog-trot going down the last
slope, and so she went up the single winding street of Alder, grunting at
every step, with Gregg's whistle behind her. In town, he lived with his
friend, Dug Pym, who kept their attic room reserved for his occupancy, so
he headed straight for that place. What human face would he see first?
It was Mrs. Sweeney's little boy, Jack, who raced into the street whooping,
and Vic caught him under the armpits and swung him dizzily into the air.
"By God," muttered Vic, as he strode on, "that's a good kid, that Jack."
And he straightway forgot all about that knife which Jackie had purloined
from him the summer before.
Pages:
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34