"You see we _must_ go." Curtis Park went over to the sofa, and said
this hoarsely. "He's a baby"--pointing to Porter--"and he's got to stay
here, but we big boys must go."
Mrs. Sterling looked up, and her face grew white. "But your fathers
wouldn't wish you to go, I am quite sure," she said.
Curtis turned away his face, but his teeth were set. "I'm going," he said
briefly.
Jack Parish's head spun, and he clenched his hands. Why had he come to this
sick woman's house! If he were only out in the free, open air, he'd go in a
flash. His father let him run to fires, and it wouldn't be many minutes
before he'd be in the thick of it. He'd make a break and run!
But how white she looked as she laid her head on the pillow. Like it or
not, there he was in her house, an invited guest; and she'd been so kind to
him and sent him the first invitation he'd ever had. He opened his hard
fists and closed them tighter than ever. Curtis Park was now at the head of
the stairs. Having decided, he was bolting off. Little Porter Knapp was
engaged in kicking Gibson, who was detaining him by the end of his jacket,
and screaming wrathfully and slapping her hands. The other boys, most of
them making up their minds to follow Curtis, were watching proceedings.
Jack strode off to Curtis. "See here," he said, "we ought not to go, don't
you know?"
Curtis turned on him in a towering passion.
Pages:
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315