A sleepy, tired girl behind an iron screen
recorded it on a slip of yellow paper, enclosed it in an envelope,
handed it to a half-awake boy, who strolled leisurely up to Union
Square, turned into Fifteenth Street, mounted Peter's front stoop
and so on up three flights of stairs to Peter's door. There he
awoke the echoes into life with his knuckles.
In answer, a charming and most courtly old gentleman in an
embroidered dressing-gown and slippers, a pair of gold spectacles
pushed high up on his round, white head, his index finger marking
the place in his book, opened the door.
"Telegram for Mr. Grayson," yawned the boy.
Ah! but there were high jinks inside the cosey red room with its
low reading lamp and easy chairs, when Peter tore that envelope
apart.
"Jack--Ruth--engaged!" he cried, throwing down his book.
"MacFarlane delighted--What!--WHAT? Oh, Jack, you rascal!--you did
take my advice, did you? Well I--well! I'll write them both--No,
I'll telegraph Felicia--No, I won't!--I'll--Well!--well!--WELL!
Did you ever hear anything like that?" and again his eyes devoured
the yellow slip.
Pages:
401
402
403
404
405
406
407
408
409
410
411
412
413
414
415
416
417
418
419
420
421
422
423
424
425