.. and grey-blue, quizzical,
but kindly eyes.
"Here, Laddie, come here!" called the voice of a frail, little woman
whose hair was white like wool, and like wool in texture. She sat
crumpled up by an open gas fire of imitation logs. She Was wry-backed,
her right shoulder thrust out into a discernible hunch.
She flung her arm tenderly about the dog, when it came to her. She was,
I figured, the professor's mother.... He held a hurried, whispered
consultation with her--after I had told him that studying his German
book at Mt. Hebron had impelled me to come to Laurel. Which story I
could see pleased and flattered him.
I was waiting in the storm porch.
He returned. He thrust his hand into his pocket and fetched forth a
two-dollar bill.
"Go downtown to one of the restaurants you will find on the main street.
You can get a square meal in one of them for a quarter or, at the most,
fifty cents ... a bed for the same price ... climb the hill again in the
morning, say about ten o'clock, and ask for me at the German Department
... I am sorry I can't invite you to stay here for the night ... but we
have no room ..." and he glanced timidly at the woman whom I had taken
to be his mother, but who, I afterward learned, was his wife.
* * * * *
I found a restaurant-hotel, as he had directed me, and procured my
supper for a quarter .
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